Side Streets

The side streets of Anchor Rock might be considered part of the town centre in any other place, but with a community this small, one doesn't have to walk far at all to find themselves in an area distinct from the centre proper. The buildings are not empty here, but it is clear that they were once more full than they are now. Still, the paths are worn with use and life — it'd be hard for them not to be, given that the majority of Anchor Rock's residents either live here or pass through regularly. Sure, the paint may be peeling, but all this really serves to do is to make the side streets feel even more quaint than the rest of the town.

The grass that grows only semi-mowed is dotted with wildflowers, and an old bicycle free of rust (its rider's pride and joy, almost certainly) leans against the railing of the stairs to the porch. To the eye of someone not accustomed to life in a place like this, these roads might seem no different to the central cluster of buildings at the heart of Anchor Rock, but those who have lived here longer know better. It's not that it's quieter here but that it's softer, slower. The door of the building stands unlocked, not quite closed as if in gentle invitation to all who pass by on the street. Come in, won't you? You'd be the most exciting person to cross the threshold all day — but then again, it's only noon. There's still time yet.

If you need strong coffee straight from the pot and greasy fried food from dawn til dusk, there’s a place in Anchor Rock for you — The First Light Café. If you’re looking for much else, you’ve probably come to the wrong place. The exception is if you’re looking for cookies and carrot cake. (Get all the cookies you can stomach, but be warned — the locals know well enough to give the carrot cake a wide berth. “It’s like chewing sand and mulch and it’s too damn sweet. Sweet mulch. Not convinced the owner knows what a carrot is.”)

Stop by to see the first and last folks up in Anchor Rock. Eavesdrop on other tables to hear the gossip about town.

Typically, passing by Safiyya’s Mechanics, you would hear the buzz and whirr of power tools, or the clanging thud of a hammer on metal, maybe even see loose sparks fly. Saf keeps the place tidy by her standards: she knows where every single tool is and on the floor in the corner, by the coffee machine is actually where the torque wrench is kept, thank you very much. Of course, nothing about this situation is typical and, for the time being, Saf's mechanic shop is silent and locked. Nevertheless, outside, in its rightful place, sits Cody’s truck: dirty, clearly put to constant use, with mud on the tires and scatterings of pine needles in the open back, but meticulously maintained, the pride and joy of a practical man.

The Florist's is a place where locals come to buy flowers. The shop itself is what used to be a large shed in Gerald’s garden. The whole place is cluttered from head to toe in every flower imaginable; handmade shelves and hanging baskets cover the walls and every bit of floor space is filled with either a desk with plant pots on it or a long plant stemming up from the ground. From roses, to daffodils, to tulips to heathers; each plant is well-kept and adorns a hand-written price tag tied to their stem. You'll almost always find Gerald here, and he's more than ready to offer a cup of tea and a biscuit if you want to chat. Be warned that your conversations will be quite long if you do decide to have them…

It’s practically an allotment, carefully arranged rows of produce, with the occasional plot of flowers. You walk through the trellis of green beans, and arrive at a fenced off plot, clearly marked as apart from Mr Bloom’s other vegetables. His pride and joy, the courgette, is missing, the stem cut and wilting.