We’ve been here at Bardoli 10 for a good few years now. The shop is small, but it’s ours. Most mornings start with me unlocking the shutters and sweeping the front step because the dust from the road always finds its way inside. We have watches lined up on one side and mobile phones on the other. It’s a bit of a mix, I know. Sometimes a customer comes in for a new watch battery and ends up looking at a smartphone for twenty minutes. I don’t mind. It’s quiet usually, except for the ticking of all the clocks on the wall. That sound becomes like background noise after an hour. My brother helps out when he can. We have tools scattered behind the counter for fixing things. Sometimes the soldering iron gets left on too long and the smell of burnt metal fills the room. It’s not a big corporate office or anything. There’s a plastic chair in the corner where my friends sit to chat when things are slow. We drink a lot of tea. The sign outside is a bit faded from the sun, but people still find us. We keep some phone chargers and those plastic screen guards in the glass bins. It’s just honest work. We stay open until the street lights come on. It’s what we do. Nothing too complicated about it. Just a local shop on a street trying to keep things running for the folks around here.
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