The shop in the middle had changed. Darkness was replaced with light. The landlord’s pleas for a tenant had been answered, the For Lease sign that had hung in the door for months missing. A glossy cursive on the sign above the freshly painted doorway announced Simon’s Film Lab, and through the sparkling window he could see a shop dazzling in pristine white, dotted with color from framed photographs and a whole wall of cameras and lenses.

Google was right.

A tiny bell jingled as Daniel pushed open the door, and a waft of acrid chemicals stung his nose. To his left, a wall covered in photos of varying sizes, wooden, painted, and metal frames filled with people. To his right, shelves spanning the length of the wall, holding cameras of every description—large and small, old and new, black and chunky, even wooden and boxy. An exhibition on the history of photography. Each carried a tiny white price tag tied on thin cotton, fluttering as the air conditioner shunted the chemicals around the room. On higher shelves between cleaning cloths and camera bags, camera lenses stood short and tall like a Manhattan skyline. On the floor sat a row of cardboard boxes filled to the brim with tiny film canisters.

Ahead of him was a white counter, clicking and whirring coming from behind it, a small sign standing proudly on it. “Clarity like you’ve never experienced before!!”

From behind the counter a man rose and stood tall before rising on the balls of his feet. His face said he was midthirties, but his slicked-back silver hair hinted at an age some decades older. He offered a broad smile to Daniel, presided over by a shining glint in his eye. He was wrapped in a white laboratory coat with a tight knot of light blue under his chin and a splash of color on his chest—a red-and-yellow name badge reading “Welcome! My name is Simon!!”

What was it with small businesses and exclamation points?

“Welcome to Simon’s Film Lab! How may I help you today?”

Daniel pulled the roll of film from his shirt pocket. “I’d like to get these photos printed, please.” He handed over Gramps’s last memories with gravitas.

Simon inspected the canister with a quiet awe. “This is from an old camera, back from a time of proper photography.” A warm voice, a slow nod, and a solemn smile. “Proper photography that meant something.”

Daniel smiled at this eccentric young but old man. It was always nice to see someone who loved their work. It made a nice contrast to the stream of disaffection that sat in his office and declared this Saturday’s lottery win would forever cast off the drudgery of Monday to Friday.

“My grandfather left me his camera.”

The glint in Simon’s eye beamed like a lighthouse beacon. “What sort of camera did he gift to you?”