There was little space.
Practically everywhere you turned, you could bump into something if you weren’t careful, and that’s even if you weren’t toting items or looking after a small child.
Yet that was part of the charm.
The pharmacy looked like it had everything you’d expect at CVS or Rite Aid, and maybe even a little bit more. It actually seemed more like a general store, to be honest.
But it wasn’t just what was on the shelves. It was the Yankee photos and other random stuff on the walls above the shelves, the bits and pieces in a cabinet near the ceiling, whatever was in the glass case where my father-in-law was talking to the owner.
Your larger, corporate drugstores — really, your larger, corporate anything — are fine for what they are. (After all, I go to one, and lots of people do.) They’re neatly laid out, well-lit, airy, with plenty of space for everything and everyone.
But this place felt … lived-in … like it belonged to somebody.
Like it’s not just a place where you pick up your prescription refill.
P.S. Even though I’m not a huge fan of John Legend’s music — it’s fine, but nothing that makes me jump out of my chair — I should acknowledge that his song “All of Me” inspired the title of this post.