Few things bring out the warm & fuzzy side of me like urban dereliction. Add "artfully rotting type" into the mix, set me down somewhere in Dublin, and I feel so good I practically need a list of harmful side effects.
There is a long stretch of seedy shop fronts that leads down to Rathmines, where I ratholed myself in a tiny flat one long-ago autumn. While a supporter of public transport in general, I have a severe allergy to Dublin Bus, so I generally walked the forty-five minutes or so from my flat into the city centre, where I'd pass this sign nearly every day. Funeral homes, charity shops, depressing internet cafés. Not much to feel inspired by. But this one, the Caroline Records sign, never failed to catch my eye.