The year is 1984, I am 28 years old and I'm sitting in the shoe store that I just opened where Milagro used to be (behind Origins). It is quiet in the store—to be more specific, "DEAD" would be the more accurate word. I look around at the skimpy inventory that I am trying to sell, but how? No one is coming in. Perhaps it's because of my location? Is it because my inventory, which I brought from a fashion company in Mexico, and a few style from Valentino (from Italy) doesn't work in Santa Fe?
So, I sit there by myself counting as the minutes turn into hours. I look around the small store and I must say it looks lovely. I have a very cozy oriental red couch, plants, and to separate the showroom from the storage room there is a huge floor-to-ceiling mirror. My eyes travel to my little antique wood box that I am using as my cash register. That was the extent of my technology.