The shop stood so close to the road that it took a single step to get inside.
It was a wooden building with its front about one foot above ground resting on concrete blocks. The rear rested on some concrete pillars.
It had once been painted in blue with white along the edges of the doors and windows. But now the colours were faded to a dirty grey.
The roof was covered with rusty galvanized sheets that appear to be collapsing.
The two doors were opened to the street, and together with the two windows, seemed to be the most solid parts of the building.
The floor made of hard wood was smooth and covered with dirt and grit, had been worn down by the thousands of feet which shuffled in and out for forty years.
A long counter ran along the entire length of the inside punctuated only by the flap which allowed the aged shopkeeper to enter and exit his station behind.
The shelves, about three tiers and stretching three sides, were sparsely filled with an assortment of tins, jars, bottles, small packages and collections of bric-a-brac.
A mixture of odours filled the place- the stink of salted meats and fish, the pungent aroma of spices and herbs, the rancidness of old cheese and above all these, the powerful odour of stale sweat; and depending on the direction of the wind, the rank of stale urine.
Noise was a constant companion emanating from the customers, the old radio squawking on a shelf and the constant rush of vehicles outside.
The shop was a landmark in the village though for many, it was an eyesore.
It had once been painted in blue with white along the edges of the doors and windows. But now the colours were faded to a dirty grey.
The roof was covered with rusty galvanized sheets that appear to be collapsing.
The two doors were opened to the street, and together with the two windows, seemed to be the most solid parts of the building.
The floor made of hard wood was smooth and covered with dirt and grit, had been worn down by the thousands of feet which shuffled in and out for forty years.
A long counter ran along the entire length of the inside punctuated only by the flap which allowed the aged shopkeeper to enter and exit his station behind.The shelves, about three tiers and stretching three sides, were sparsely filled with an assortment of tins, jars, bottles, small packages and collections of bric-a-brac.
A mixture of odours filled the place- the stink of salted meats and fish, the pungent aroma of spices and herbs, the rancidness of old cheese and above all these, the powerful odour of stale sweat; and depending on the direction of the wind, the rank of stale urine.
Noise was a constant companion emanating from the customers, the old radio squawking on a shelf and the constant rush of vehicles outside.
The shop was a landmark in the village though for many, it was an eyesore.
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