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Rain messedup my people watching.
Instead of congregating on the sidewalks and restaurant patios, everybody was driven inside, traveling in cars or under umbrellas, protecting themselves from the late spring downpour.
For three damn days.
Finally, sheer boredom drove me downstairs to the abandoned candle shop I’d been largely ignoring, mostly because it confused me.
What was the point of a whole shop for candles?
It struck me as kinda creepy, honestly.
From the front-facing store portion with all the half empty shelves and dust-covered merchandise wallowing in what seemed to be signature black jars, to the deserted workshop in the back.
There were boxes and boxes of the same jars from the front – empty, of course. Dozens of cartons filled with soy wax that was probably expired, fragrance oils well past the“use by”dates printed on the bottoms.
But, even in all its abandoned eeriness… it was kinda intriguing, too.
I opened all the scent oils, breathing them in and almost knocking myself out with the stench of several that had gone putrid. Looked in all the wax cartons, noting how the color of the wax seemed to correlate with expiration dates long passed. I examined the jars of different sizes and shapes, wrestled with spools of candle wick molded together with age. Wondered over what all the different accessories and tools and knick-knacks actually did.
So much shit to make something so simple.
Venturing to the front, I started pulling the cork tops off the already-made candles, curious about the scents chosen for each blend. The labels were all rudimentary, with mostly-faded names that offered no clues about what went in, and without even a proper store name.
Just,the candle shop.
“I guess you were reallythat bitchback then,” I said aloud… to the store, I guess. And then, “You are really fucking losing it,” to myself.
Because I was.
I needed to get my ass outta here.
Instead of doing that, I kept opening and smelling candles, until I was satisfied I’d taken in every scent.
There was one that was a clear favorite, and for the briefest of moments I thought about curing my boredom by trying to replicate it.
Then I decided I was probably hungry.
Little byverylittle, I’d been branching more and more into the neighborhood, familiarizing myself with what was available.
There was alot.
Today’s interest lied in the restaurant at the fringes of my purview from the window – a spot frequented by locals and visitors alike, who all looked happy and full when they left.
Pot Liquor.
They had food, and I liked food, so… seemed like a match made in heaven.
I went back upstairs for my wristlet and keys, grabbing my umbrella on the way out. It was a wet walk, but in less than ten minutes I was walking through the doors ofPot Liquor, having my senses instantly assaulted by…warmth.
From all directions.
The rainstorm had brought a distinct chill with it, but the inside of the restaurant was nice and cozy.
And homey.
And bright.
It felt like stepping into a completely different reality from the gloominess outside, and the delicious aromas wafting from the kitchen felt indulgent at this point.
