I went to a large local thrift shop yesterday, looking for garden containers and books.

I saw the hairdryers I used in the ‘70s. The make up mirrors and the carved wooden wall hangings. The typewriters & “word processors” from the early 80s. Mismatched dishes, loose silverware, and cheap knick-knacks.

The musty smell; the bleak lighting.

Somebody held on to all that junk long enough for it to hit the store twenty to thirty years later. I don’t want to be that person.