I took this photo of West Side Nuts, at 118 West 72nd Street, ten years ago today, shortly after it went out of business. It was such an earnest little place, and I always imagined the fellow behind the counter quietly saying, “Please buy my nuts” as people passed by and not only didn’t buy his nuts but didn’t even realize he existed.

The incredible modesty of this place, and the whisper of “West Side Nuts” on the window struck in me such pathos that at times I thought I would sob right there on the sidewalk. Indeed, when the day came that I saw its windows papered, so even if the quiet man were still inside, perhaps sweeping the floor of errant nuts from long-gone years, I wouldn’t have been able to see him, I gasped, my heart sank, and, knowing me, I got all teary, and I apologized to the store itself and the man who ran it.