Young people who find solace in a vintage shop in a town that seems to be developing around them without including them.
When Doris died in the flat above her shop, camel coated property developers came and clucked around the pavement, measuring windows and sniffing the air. Her neon sign, Doris’s Knits, hinted at goods once sold beyond the mail cluttered door by the mythical fashionista. Her era, folded into time, was as irretrievable as Greek Mythology and she too in recent years was only known only by occasional sightings of a time ravaged arm retrieving mannequins from her window.
No new tenants appeared in spite of the vast to let sign at the upper windows. Things stayed still, waiting for Inga and Salvatore to trumpet by, many Sundays later, in a red Austin Maxi.
When they moved in, the eyes of the town feasted on the contents of their removal van. Passers-by surveyed Salvatore, flashing his good looks and nimble handling of heavy of furniture. They blinked wondrously at Inga’s snowflake grace...
When Doris died in the flat above her shop, camel coated property developers came and clucked around the pavement, measuring windows and sniffing the air. Her neon sign, Doris’s Knits, hinted at goods once sold beyond the mail cluttered door by the mythical fashionista. Her era, folded into time, was as irretrievable as Greek Mythology and she too in recent years was only known only by occasional sightings of a time ravaged arm retrieving mannequins from her window.
No new tenants appeared in spite of the vast to let sign at the upper windows. Things stayed still, waiting for Inga and Salvatore to trumpet by, many Sundays later, in a red Austin Maxi.
When they moved in, the eyes of the town feasted on the contents of their removal van. Passers-by surveyed Salvatore, flashing his good looks and nimble handling of heavy of furniture. They blinked wondrously at Inga’s snowflake grace...