As the elevated rumbles by overhead I step into the shade of the rail structure, its steel lattice flaking rust and decades of grey-green paint, and then down a half a story into the flower shop. A bell over the door sparkles audibly and welcomes me in.
The air in the garden level shop is moist and richly scented from shelves of freshly cut flowers. The windows onto the street are rippled with age but clean and bright.
The florist, who’s family’s shop has served generations from this slim brownstone in this close-knit neighborhood, smiles as she recognizes me.
Oh, wait. Chicago Avenue in Minneapolis? My mistake. (But can’t you just feel the long history of this brand new shop in Brad Surcey’s evocative card design.)