Inside this small border village in southern Isaan, at the far end of the main road, is a gathering place that serves as tavern, drugstore, temple, mercantile, and healer’s shrine.
It is also home to a man named Yow.
From six in the morning until eight at night, every day of the year, villagers come to sit, talk, laugh, rest, seek counsel, and drink.
Like a steady stream of passing time, Yow’s corner store becomes the center of gravity, where people naturally gather and often linger.
Some, perhaps, too long.
