(A1-A2) 🟢 The Tailor’s Window: A Soft 8-Min English Story for Beginners

Welcome to Listen and Learn English Channel. Don't forget to subscribe and give us a like. Your story is about to begin. My name is Mateo. I am 70 years old. I am a tailor. I work in a small shop on Olive Street. The window is large and clean. I change the display every Monday. Each morning, I open the shutters and sweep the front step. Pigeons fly down and look at me. I tell them, not today my friends. They coo and wait anyway. I turn on the light inside. The fabric glows under the yellow bulb's cotton silk wool. I run my hand along a row of blues. Soft as clouds. Some fabric is new. Some I've had for 20 years. Today, I finish a dress for a little girl. It is yellow with white daisies. Her grandmother asked me to make it for her birthday. I hem the bottom, sew on three tiny buttons and press the collar. It smells like steam and clean linen. At 10, Mrs. Valeria visits. She brings warm bread from the bakery. We drink coffee and talk about nothing. She tells me a story about her cat jumping into the laundry basket. We laugh until we cry. After she leaves, I write in my notebook. One yellow dress. One loaf of bread. One perfect morning. In the afternoon, a young man comes in with his wedding suit. He's nervous. His hands shake. I adjust the sleeves and pin the collar. You look ready. I say he smiles wide. Thank you, he whispers. At four, I sit near the window and sew a patch on an old jacket. Outside, the sky turns golden. A child walks by holding her mother's hand. She points at the dress in the window and smiles. Before I close the shop, I play a record. Old jazz fills the air. I turn slowly in the middle of the room. Just one small dance with no audience but the coats and spools. This is my life in the tailor shop. It is quiet but never empty. It is old but always full of something new. Now, listen and repeat every sentence. Have you already liked the video and subscribed to the channel? It's five seconds that will save your daily progress. Listen and repeat. My name is Mateo. I am 70 years old. I am a tailor. I work in a small shop on Olive Street. The window is large and clean. I change the display every Monday. Each morning, I open the shutters and sweep the front step. Pigeons fly down and look at me. I tell them, not today, my friends. They coo and wait anyway. I turn on the light inside. The fabric glows under the yellow bulbs cotton silk wool. I run my hand along a row of blues, soft as clouds. Some fabric is new. Some I've had for 20 years. Today, I finish a dress for a little girl. It is yellow with white daisies. Her grandmother asked me to make it for her birthday. I hem the bottom, sew on three tiny buttons and press the collar. It smells like steam and clean linen. At 10, Mrs. Valeria visits. She brings warm bread from the bakery. We drink coffee and talk about nothing. She tells me a story about her cat jumping into the laundry basket. We laugh until we cry. After she leaves, I write in my notebook. One yellow dress. One loaf of bread. One perfect morning. In the afternoon, a young man comes in with his wedding suit. He's nervous. His hands shake. I adjust the sleeves and pin the collar. You look ready. I say he smiles wide. Thank you, he whispers. At four, I sit near the window and sew a patch on an old jacket. Outside, the sky turns golden. A child walks by holding her mother's hand. She points at the dress in the window and smiles. Before I close the shop, I play a record. Old jazz fills the air. I turn slowly in the middle of the room. Just one small dance with no audience but the coats and spools. This is my life in the tailor shop. It is quiet but never empty. It is old but always full of something new.