The only thing worse than being locked inside a vintage advertising store in Paris, is being locked outside. Looking at the wealth of wonderful treasures – enamel signs, points of purchase figures and mascots, assorted posters and bills and lord knows whatelse that can’t be seen through the barred window.
The dealer of the unnamed “reclame” emporium in St. Paul is never around, and even if his number is called, its a fifty-fifty chance you’ll get him. So his stock of antique gems remains unsullied by voracious collectors, like me.
