Alright. This is about my visit to a little (and now quite schick after renovation) dépôt-vente or a secondhand shop where goods are sold on commission a few steps from my home. It’s late at night on my way back home from a movie that this shop came to my notice. I saw a cycle hanging by one of the glass doors and a few collectibles scattered around. I wondered and thought of stopping by this place which was so full of character the next day.
The cycle that got me to open the door next day.
With a Bonjour began my conversation with Nicholas who was rather a little preoccupied juggling between a potential seller and tidying up the shop due for renovation. He apologised for the clutter and I in my broken French said pas du tout.
We managed to speak in English and French. After taking a few phone photos I told him that I’d see him soon, but this time I’ll get my camera to photograph. Besides, I had a few questions to ask him. He obliged and was quick to add that I must call him before I visit him because due to renovation of the shop he shuts it down at odd hours during the day.
I must admit I liked it all the more because it was
an ocean of a mélange of memories of people I’ll never know. And, in my head I gave this shop a name: Museum of Memories. I did so because there was an entire stand of photographs and post cards with faces and handwriting that were not yet ravaged by time.
I flipped through some photos too.
This is all that I have from my short visit. I’ll come back with more photographs from this mini museum. In the meanwhile, I have this question in my mind I can’t sign off without asking you all. What do other people’s memories mean to you, especially when you encounter them knowing you don’t know them? Are a collector of someone else’s memories?