Just around the corner was this little shop:
Even the boneyard around the side of the shop was interesting. I have known and loved a close relative of that chair that sits soaked and rotting in the rain.
What had been a mild interest in what the funky little shop might hold was fast turning into an obsession. Where was the owner?? The place was supposed to be open, dammit! There was treasure in there, just beyond our reach. Nevermind that I spent most of last week hauling junk out of my own house to take to Goodwill, this was new junk!—well, old junk really, but new to us.
Pretty soon the owner arrived, breathless, bearing brownies and the key to the door. The power had been off that morning, so she had to wait til it came back on to bake her brownies—then she could come and unlock her shop. Finally we could inspect everything up close and personal. Junk, pretty much. Chia pets and mismatched glassware, souvenirs of long-forgotten vacations and old fishing poles and well-used cowboy boots. But the brownies were delicious.