The shop floor was a long, thin corridor, with bulky tables dotted along the centre line. On each table was a pile of distinctly coloured wares, each jumbled up seemingly randomly but organised neatly by hue. The walls, bare, grey brick, hung with framed monochrome news clippings, pressed inward, pushing customers toward the central offerings.

I slinked slowly past the green table, stroking its surface gently with my little finger. A stuffed parakeet, perched atop a weathered copper singing bowl, eyed me up with distrust.