Antique junk | 1 April 2007

We visited another antique store — really more of a junk store — in a town that took much longer to get to than from. We took antihistamines in anticipation of the dust. A few thousand square feet of disordered angled misleading occasionally dead-end aisles of colossal sideboards, warped tables, soiled boxes, creaky chests, wobbly chairs, rusted cast iron cookware, dated art glass, and a streetlight with each light connected to its own switch. One reason I am grateful for our lack of a basement or garage: I have no choice but to resist the urge toward every piece of junk that appeals to my eye.

<—– Previous: Bushes  |  Next: Sewn up –—>

Places to go: bhikku | bookninja | eudaemonist | fine little day | fireland | ftrain | geegaw | girls are pretty | interior stories | ivebeenreadinglately | lena corwin | maud newton | mimi smartypants | oblivio | pliv | poppytalk | rhetorical device | simply breakfast | smosch | the nonist | toastier | whygodwhy | wood s lot | & so