Ning's Apothecary

Down a dusky sidestreet, narrow as it is quiet. The hum of the city disappears, cars and cellphones unheard. The ancient dynastic buildings take over from the communist-era immeubles. Cobbled streets contain wicker baskets of archaic fruits and cloth, red lanterns and dripping tiled eaves.
A door - almost hidden among the dusty building stone and outdoor tapestries. The green characters on the door are faint and even by most modern Chinese are unrecognisable. But such is longevity of the premise, everyone knows what they are: Ning's Apothecary.
The heavy wooden door opens outward, silently and reveals a thick velvetlike curtain. Once the door is closed and the curtain drawn, all outside sounds are gone.
A few slow candles, some in in red dim lanterns provide the all the light. The shelves are lined with scrolls and curios. What are those - skulltops? and shrivelled creatures, enormous beetles, a doubleheaded snake in a bottle, dried plants and crumbling books... behind these shelves racks of drawers filled with herbs, powders, oils, shavings, vapours and remedies.
And there he is! Old Dr. Ning sitting in the traditional robes of his ancestors, behind a counter loaded with all manner of smoking, bubbling medicines, and yellowed papers.
His fixed stare betrays nothing of his thoughts, but evidently he is assessing your remedy. I hesitantly begin to speak, but he waves me into silence. He takes my hand and inspect the nails, inks something on a yellow card and files it in a huge directory. Wordlessly, he rises and heads into the murky bowels of his chemistry, and I am left alone with the smell of incense and herbs, and the sound of creaking papers and wafting medicinal tapestry hangings.
Suddenly I notice Dr. Ning has returned, and offers a brown waxpapered parcel of remedy. I've already forgotten what I came in for. He presses it into my hands and performs some sacred hand motion over the parcel, whispering something to himself or me, I can't be sure.
And I'm out in the alley, I can see the China Telecom tower through the haze. The din of horns and engines almost obscures the hundred tweeting cellphones in the street. I look back and the door to Ning's Apothecary is invisible, already lost in the smog and brick. I'm sure I wouldn't be able to find it again.