Twenty Dollar Question the color aubergine

An old idea surfaced as I was driving down Kimball Hill in Putney last week.  The idea (inspired in part by renewed wonderings of what the heck I could do for a living besides being a school librarian) swam back to the forefront as I was swinging through town.

That morning my eyes were drawn to the wrapping paper shades slipping off the windows of Penelope Wurr's former and now empty gift shop.  That space is begging to be a tiny coffee shop and it's tenant free.  The facade is half brick, half clapboard and appealing in an old world way.  Its windows facing the street are made for staring out of while sipping a perfectly made cup coffee, my coffee. The building is dilapidated.  It would need work, probably lots of it.  But, dilapidated places are my favorites.  On a drive through any town, small or large, searching for the coolest most run down building has become a favorite past time. This habit is annoying to my family but, most especially to my daughter, who refers to me as a bobble head driver.  The looking never stops, even on the most familiar of roads.

On this particular bobble head morning, right then and there I decided to find out about "my coffee" place.  The plan was simple, I'd ask Elisa (owner of Florali and inhabitor of the building adjacent to my coffee shop dream) a few questions about it.  I'd stop in on a feigned shopping trip --resisting a purchase for post-Christmas and post-unemployed reasonings.

Starting a conversation with Elisa involves no effort.  All it takes is a hand on the doorknob and the chatter ensues.  On opening the door she quickly announced that everything was 20% off, even though a large sign on the door at eye level clearly advertised it.  I perused the store, examining various sweaters, admiring some necklaces and trying on scarves all the while listening politely to her prattle. Eye contact and proximity to Elisa are irrelevant when it comes to conversing.  Discomfort grew in my chest when she talked at length about business being unusually slow.  Sure it was a weekday but, her store suddenly seemed eerily empty and this sole customer had no intentions of spending a dime.  Guilt kept me from grilling her.  This is silly, I thought.  Ducking into the dressing room with a plum colored sweater, I made a new plan to only ask for the landlords number and make a quick get away.  The sweater fit perfectly.  It was just my style too; simple and plain.  I took it off an examined the tags.  Carol Rose, aubergine sweater, size medium, $28.

"What's the name of the man that owns the building next door?" I asked, handing Elisa the sweater and the remainder of my cash.