It was an arts-and-crafts place. I have no idea what I was doing in there. As something of a pathological minimalist, I have zero use for watercolours and pottery. I know people who can think of nothing better than dredging through aisle upon aisle of twee objects and knitwear. However, I’m careful to avoid going shopping with them.
Perhaps I was there to meet the store’s owner. Destiny has a way of arranging such things. She was a wisp of a woman who’d never strayed more than eight miles from that very store.
Rather than that making her narrow in any sense of the word, it merely served to hone her interest all the more. When she’d found out that I was slowly amassing quite a collection of stamps in my passport, she encouraged me to tell her about a few of my more intense experiences.
She was an easy audience with a thirst for knowledge and a hunger for adventure. Nevertheless, the day was heading towards dusk, and I still had a piece of road to travel. As a result, I made my excuses and turned to leave.
“Thank you for sharing,” she said.
I didn’t know what to say to that. “No problem”? “My pleasure”? By way of acknowledging her statement, I raised my hand. The gesture could have meant absolutely anything. Her smile indicated that she didn’t take it in the least bit illy.