The Dream Merchant That was what the little shop was for—to sell dreams. O’GARA was grateful to the little shop, because it was the first thing in which he had taken any interest since Jean’s death six months before. It had become, with time, a proprietary interest.
The shop had been vacant for a long, long time. It stood at the corner of the alley behind a duplex apartment building in a neighborhood not generally zoned for commercial purposes. Perhaps some venal politician had permitted it to be built there in the first place.
O’Gara lived in the next street but one, and used to pass it every night. Coming home from work, deep in his own misery, for a long time he passed it without noticing it, but gradually it impinged on his consciousness.
. . .
