I love shops after they close, the way they look through their windows. They become dioramas, absent of human buzz and burn, or stage sets after the curtain drops, or dollhouses, emptied of their dolls.
Without people there, the blouses take our shape, our presence. Suggesting more, like Anne Francis in her episode of the Twilight Zone.
Books look even more delicious, like candy in boxes just before you sample them.
And I gaze much longer at things that I would never really want.