Désirée

 She looked out of her shop.
She sold all of those things she wanted to own, and for that reason could speak for hours about aromatherapy, The select self help books she chose.
 The philosophy of Yoga. And other remedies, spiritual articles and items that people could use on their bedside tables for some sort of positive reminder.  
She had set it all up with calm music and incense rolling out into the alleys calling for the kindred souls.

Looking out of the two meter opening where a door should have been. Where her kindred spirit customers would breeze in either programmed for a specific trinket or herb, or willed on by aimless curiosity.

She looked out for the possible man that might complete her. The closest thing to the kind of man she sought were usually eccentric Yoga instructors, most of them on a default setting of passive self destruction, or overwhelming vanity, rapid and repeating into all encompassing crisis that put the man himself to rethinking his life. Finally sabotaging his relationships and routines, starting over after some trip east, and coming back as if he had attained some higher level in the vidoegame of life.

This kind of man wouldn't do. The only other men that passed her way, were truckers who would use the nearby carpark to take their lunch, sleep or wait for further instructions from their bosses.
Underpaid, full of calluses, unhygienic habits and crude jokes that had become sharpened through constant repetition. Among them alcoholics and hermits, failed university students, plagued by complacency and resignation, born to believe skill was innate and not learned. using this as an excuse for all of their shortcomings. No, even among the best of these ones, this is not what she wanted.

She picked up one of the brown red wooden sculptures of the Buddha. The roundness of the sculpture had always reminded her of abundance. Maybe she would meet a rich man with this same shape, whose roundness would reflect prosperity but also a wealth in insight and self knowledge.

Looking up she caught herself in the middle of this thought. She realized she was doing the exact thing she told herself she wouldn't do. Build up her silent secret profile of a man she would marry, build up those expectations well above the evidence concurrent with this meager reality.

She put down the buddha as if putting down of the idea itself. Her expression transitioned from high eyebrows and infrequent twitches of the forehead to a semi furrow and squint. Almost her default expression, as two women came picking in the discount items at the shopfront.

Their chirpy voices were so fluent, so constant and strangely pleasant they could be mistaken for the sound of a narrow yet rapid full stream. Puzzled for a second she slowly approached them careful not to go directly in and put them off. As if the small boxes the women were investigating were the hooks and bait. But what exactly was she fishing for? Was this her dream, to be the clerk owner of her spiritual items shop? To commiserate with other women who shared similar thoughts, feelings and illusions.

The women stepped inside, so she opened her pitch and spiel about the boxes of tea the women were clutching. immediately she created rapport, connecting the three of them in a moment that could set strong bonds even friendships intot he future. She got them to share their phone numbers and retold several allegories connected to the products they had chosen.

The women left and she was once more looking wistfully out of the shop at the people in the distance coming and going. Those clouds of ideals condensing into thoughts that once again passed over the inside of her eyes and further into her quiet mind.