“I have tried to write Paradise.
“Do not move
Let the wind speak
That is paradise
“Let the Gods forgive what I
Let those I love try to forgive
What I have made."
- Canto CXX, The Cantos of Ezra Pound
Here is an almost empty shop, without a sign, but with a table that includes (pretty sure) the necessary equipment for me to rule the world. It looks like the left over detritus from a mad scientist's lab, old ham radio gear, including to the left of the tall piece of equipment, a hand keyer to send Morse code.
Now, I'm no expert, but after carefully studying the picture at great magnification, I postulate that the tall item in the center is a secret mind control device that would enable the skilled operator to dial in the brain frequency of any nearby brain, and then to gently adjust the brain waves in several different directions. I know it will require a bit of practice for me to master thought control, but I promise I will only use my powers for good. Or mostly for good. For me, that is.
Still, in case some combination of radioactive mutant villans, DHS, and those girls who were mean to me in high school conspire to foil my plan for world domination, I will still have the brain wave machines secreted in my underground hideout. There, I'll crouch at night, twiddling the dials, petting the kitty asleep on my lap, and laughing maniacally as I work. First I'll adjust my own brain waves to enable me to understand why some people find the taste of olives desirable, to sense danger before it strikes, and to remember to turn off the soaker hose before I go back inside at the end of the day.
Then again, perhaps not. Perhaps I'll go back outside while the white wisteria blooms are still so fragrant the scent might knock some sense into me. There's winter's mess to clean up, and that could take days.
So. It's either world domination or gardening…