This is the setting for a lot of my stories. Like a lot of my names, it’s a pun: “the Bizaar.” Few stories cross through it by name, but most have some proximity to it. It’s next door, it’s dashed through during a foot chase, and it’s on the TV when she isn’t paying attention. Yes, it is sometimes in the fiction of the fiction, because fiction can speak of what ought to be in the world instead of what we have to settle for.
Here you can get your magic carpet cleaned without fear of it losing its vibrant colors of accelerative capacity. Here you can buy swords that anyone can swallow. Here a couple from abroad spit blue flame, and use that breath to roast meats with more savory flavors than anywhere else in riding distance.
The pet store has wyverns, chimeras and hydras – though that last creature is actually a microscopic aquatic organism with a two-way digestive system, meant more for kids interested in biology than the dark arts. The big seller in the petshop is eggs. Some are fossilized dinosaur eggs. Many more will hatch to live and obedient slime molds, serpents and rocs.
There is a man to sell you a ticket in. The same man sells you a ticket out. He wears a turban and has a tan, which disguises him, so you won’t recognize that he’s me.