Three stories in, and we already have one that breaks the mould. A last shop still functions in Monfeld. In a retail space near the street a door remains open.
This is an exclusive club. Not necessarily a good one.
I spoke to a woman who runs an Instagram of ‘hidden’ views around the city. The shopping centre was on their list, but they had no desire to break in like the urban explorers. So another obvious option existed. I bet they wished they had trespassed instead.
The wedding dresses hang on wooden rails in the window. They number less than ten, and the fabric is too shiny, the stitching too thick.
I am not getting married. But I visited for one last look at Monfeld.
You have to head down a side alley that smells of bins in the heat. The shutters are down on the doors that lead to within the shopping centre itself, the metal pitted and dented. The words ‘what appears from underneath?’ are spraypainted on the faded stone wall. No idea.
A bell tinkled upon entry. I had zero chance of making a purchase, but some theatricality was needed to ensure they did not kick me straight out. I was about to leap into a monologue about my wedding day, when the owner grabbed me by the wrist. I think it was meant to be a friendly gesture, but her hand was so clammy.
‘Looking for a dress?’ She said, widening her eyes.
More dresses hung in the front section on the shop, white snakes of silk and lace and sequins. She pointed to the darkness at the far end.
‘The best ones are down there.’
I had to follow her. She walked with a stoop, like the weight of the place pushed her down. Monfeld hid on the other side of the walls, hidden behind the mucky plaster.
The other room was hot and boxy. She offered me orange juice from a glass dispenser with a golden tap. The cup was dusty, and the juice was rust coloured. I accepted, but did not drink.
Six dresses lived back here. The owner stroked them all, and grinned without warmth.
‘These are from all my best brides,’ she said. ‘They always gave them back.’
When you looked at the dresses close up, you saw the burn marks. The green stains. One with scarlet spatters and tyre treads.
I left in a polite but steady march backwards through that forest of dresses. The sun was so nice outside. I realised how nice the sun is. The woman watched from the window, a fish in a tank in an abandoned apartment.