i made it through the quarantine. i survived a couple of medical scares and a global pandemic. i went and cleaned my whole act up. i've been on the wagon for six years. for about half that time, my bizarre, little, one-man bazaar has earned a reputation in the local business community as a marginally reputable purveyor of quality goods and services. 

i broke down and opened a bank account and got some credit cards. i filed a couple of back tax returns and paid off some delinquent parking tickets. now having settled up with the tax man and a menagerie of municipalities stretching across this great land, i find myself at the crossroads (and I'm gonna miss everybody/ and I'm gonna miss everybody.).

while i was sitting around, waiting for another market crash, a lightbulb went on above my head and i thought: this is the perfect time to prepare for the next iteration of my one-man cartel. so i did. now i’m opening up my private reserves for the first time in nearly four decades: treasures i acquired on my travels; the most sought-after miscellany; the rarest ephemera. all on display and available for purchase, unabated, at all hours of the day and night. look for the neon sign that reads “live” flickering above a room in the dark.

yeah, things sure are looking up for old ross dickerson. so it is with great pride, excitement, and equally great optimism that I give you the conclusion of my bildungsroman:

darkroom: a modern general store for specialists and throwbacks.