lawrence street
As the glass door pivots open, the scent assaults my nose— an exotic blend of stale tiger balm and chalky vitamins. I slowly scan the shelves. Boxes, jars, and bottles in various colors and sizes line the walls. The store is a crowded mix of medicinal ointments, creams, capsules and cute vibrant plastic toys and plush. As much as I dislike spending time in this convenient store of magic potions and listening to the foreign dialogue, I like the promise of taking home a unique knick knack of enviable cuteness. After what feels like an hour but isn't so, it's time to go and I quickly present my treasure. Standing in silence while my mom inspects my bauble never goes without reward. Her face is serious, and stoic is always second nature. The store owner's eyes squint as she cheers for me and the sale is made. I happily clutch my souvenir of cheap origin, bounce out onto the sidewalk, and begin to pardon the visit to this pseudo pharmacy.