These dark days I hardly see anyone. There’s shapes and shades and shadows but nothing you could put a label to. Most of them tend to keep to the walls as if touching their way along in the darkness. My little kiosk sits in the middle of the walkway, a shining light during those lonely hours.

I have been here for as long as I can remember. Where I come from, things are passed down from Father to son, Mother to daughter. We used to share our clothes; the eldest getting them new and the next in line getting them handed down. That’s the way it worked when I was growing up and that’s how I probably got this kiosk. It’s bright and warm on cold mornings and just as accommodating during the blast of evenings.

My customers are not as many as they were before. Few people have time…