The store front was quiet, empty, dark. A few hidden red lights glazed the old wood surfaces and I remembered just how old the building was. Still I walked in,having to open m friends' humble coffeehouse or them while they took a much needed break from their heartfelt project. And somehow I'd become a shopkeeper. So many jobs over time...
Mover, waiter, bartender, innkeeper, antique salesperson, industrial part dealer, copy writer, painter, and now shop-keeper. What is it that I do anyway?
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