Fishs Eddy (no possessive apostrophe, 19th Street and Broadway) is a positive glory hole of domestic stuff you did not know you wanted until you see it, and then you do want it. I bought a book about making soup.
The decor is a mixture of the retro-charming and slightly alarming. Lots of rather badly painted portraits of people whose families have abandoned them to
grace the walls of a shop. So then one has to wonder who they are, and choose favorites, and then make up stories about them. (Willow take note!)