It was a tiny shop in the Latin quarter of Paris that could have been easily missed with its narrow front in the fading sunlight except, there were people standing in front of a wooden board outside the store that had rows upon rows of small regularly shaped coiled objects attached to it. They would wind a small handle on the object to listen to a French tune, and if they liked it enough they walked into the store to get the corresponding music box, fully finished with a glass panel through which you could see the mechanics of the tune as it was being produced – my wife and I bought some, too and just before doing so, I asked if a tune I recognized was sung by Edith Piaf, to which the shopkeeper not in the least bit enthusiastic, said that of course the whole world knows about Edith Piaf and her songs.
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