Pick A Color
As I got acclimated to San Antonio, far different from the old Austin I left behind, I noticed a preponderance of “Korean Nail Salons,” usually arrayed next to a large plot of HEB. HEB, in itself, I lived in the shadow the downtown flagship office for a number of years, but the stores themselves engender a kind of perverse loyalty. One acquaintance worked in real estate at the time, and she claimed that HEB wasn’t in the business of selling groceries, the main income for the company was derived from the rental next to the store, her term? “Korean Nail Salons.”
“Thats’ where they make their money: off the real estate.”
Like a lot of my own business, not exactly fact-checked, but the ancillary evidence supports the view.
When a novel’s recommendation came down the electronic tubes, and purported to be set in a nail salon, I thought it would be interesting.
The story unfolds over a single day in a city, with the rich inner dialogue of the shop’s owner, wrapping past and present together. Almost poetical in tone and utterance, yet also catty and present at the same time.
