He glanced around the shop. It was fairly neat—by Ponyville standards. A yellowed newspaper tacked to the wall announced the opening of this very shop; the tagline was her own name. Even the header was misspelled, which hardly surprised him. The plaster walls were in need of a coat of lime, and the chairs appeared to have been rejects from a rummage sale. The desk was piled high with harness pieces, rusty plow teeth, and a stack of papers weighed down with a bent horseshoe. A spool of twine and two small rolls of soft wire were hung from a fairly-straight branch, which was tied up to the bottom of a home-made desk. He glanced over the counter and discovered a faded Wonderbolts pin up calendar that was two months behind—although he had to admit, it was a flattering, if somewhat unrealistic portrayal of Soarin. No wonder she hasn’t changed it. 