It was an attractive shop. Housed in an old building, freshly painted white, it had a wide wooden planter box filled with green leafy things at the entrance. The letters above the door were large and bold; confident and ready for its customers.
The interior was white with minimal furniture: a large wooden counter with a pile of beautiful postcards, two long wooden shelves with glass jars of handmade organic skincare and a cushioned window seat. The shop was comfortable and welcoming, but the invitation was limited.
It offered beautiful and nourishing cold pressed juices made daily. They were presented in gold capped, old style milk bottles filled with many shades of green and just one white, dotted with little black seeds.
There were always a few customers in the shop, hovering and quietly chatting as if in a gallery. They were models: tall, slim and wonderfully dressed. Paid in juice for their presence, they anticipated the direction and needs of the real customers, whom they gently ushered around and out of the shop; absorbing what they needed.