Yesterday's Oatmeal Day After Day
The store was on the corner.
Near a shady tree.
On a block where you could sometimes park. If you were lucky.
Across from the coffee shop that was always crowded and served huge pots of tea.
And the Thai Place.
And the other Thai Place.
It was one of those places people who liked spirituality and paganism and Druids would speak about in hushed tones.
She went in all the time. Bought books. Drank green tea. And breathed in the incense.
I waited for her. Outside.
Until that one day that I ventured inside. Smelled the Patchouli. Looked through the many different types of massage therapists whose cards were up on the cork board.
And in the back of my mind, I heard this song.
And thought of monsters. Dancing.
And while I could tell you I found her in the metaphysical section, anyone who ever went to that store knows the whole store was the metaphysical section.
I went back there today.
The bookstore's gone.
The Thai Place is now a trendy boutique. The other Thai Place is now a shoestore. The coffee shop closed, reopened as a different coffee shop, and now is a different coffee shop with hookahs at the tables on the sidewalk.
The shady tree fell down and the street is now permit-only, so you can't even park there.
The monsters no longer dance there. They've moved somewhere else.
I'm pretty sure they'd want me to find them.
And maybe she'll even be there. In the metaphysical section, naturally.
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