It’s 7:50 p.m. on a Tuesday as I enter the dimly lighted metaphysical supply store . Even inside, it almost looks closed; I barely see the crystal-necklace-studded walls, the bowls of runes and bins of long, black candles around me. Half-filled glass jars (perhaps potions?) sit beyond the store’s elongated bar — the apothecary — where a silent man in black points me past Egyptian deity figurines and a large python named Drakina to … my yoga class.