The Gate of Power's Lamp

You could say that old man changed my fate. He was a strange fellow, with silver hair under a cowboy hat and beach shorts beneath his Taoist robe.

And I have to say, his tobacco smelled incredibly pungent. Yes, he had sharp brows and a prominent nose, but he kept a Sherlock Holmes-style pipe in his mouth. He was an absolute oddball.

Though he could be reliable at times, more often he would add fuel to the fire when faced with a mess as chaotic as a haystack, then break into a campfire dance.

“I'm a negotiator, you know,” he always said, even though his only legal authority was a chair, an entirely ordinary one.

Until that stormy night, when he sat down on it.