Sometimes I'll go by and I'll see theowner there, a squat older woman from some Southeast Asian country, and I'llpass by, avoiding her forbidding scow....But other times I'll be about to pass by the window of the junkshop and I'lljust know my girl is there. Maybe I've subconsciously glimpsed her in one ofthe tarnished tablespoons in the window, or maybe her dusty-spicy fragrancelingers on the doorstep I haven't even crossed yet. I don't know how I know,but I'm always right.When this happens, my. Deciding to conquer the fear, she spoke. Her voice went up in pitch and shaky. “I’ve fallen for someone.” Her sister looked up from her work curiously. “I thought as much. I wondered why you started acting so weird. Now concerned with what you wear. Who is it?” ‘Have you ever heard me talk about my Maths Teacher?” She nodded. “What’s his name?” “Brad.” ‘What’s he look like?’ She described him to her, ever eager to talk of this man who had become so special to me. And to think only last year she. More

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