There they were.
On the floor amongst others, they were unwanted, forgotten, outworn, left behind.
But passed on, and displayed, they waited. It seems they were waiting for me.
I'd only meant to peak in the door, really I did. But I ended up inside, seeing if in half a minute or less I might spy something of use, that could be recreated into some sort of Bibliographicalinia. I spent $2 and came out with these olde leather boots, and a rusty heart shaped thing that looked like a reconstructed nail.
"I plan to incorporate these into my bindings." I tell the perplexed shop lady. She tells me I am very clever.
I love the ladies who frequently work at thrift stores, they always have a homely feeling about them, like you could sit down with a cuppa and talk about your life. They'd probably not mind one bit, maybe not even ask your name. I've been into such stores and have seen bowls of orchard fruit for the taking, little baked goodies and the like on the counter for the customers. And they don't get paid a cent for their work, it's all out of the goodwill of their hearts. These places have wonderful energies. There is no trash in sight, just pre-loved items that have potential for another life.
And, they always call me 'dear'.
I proceeded to a regular spot across the road I have taken to like, where I can sit and journal for a time, with my black staedtler pen, and watch the sea out the window. The same spot I had taken the day before, when a lady wandered in out of the rain, wearing a bona fide clean sack as a raincoat.
Now, that's what I call clever.