While waiting for some prescription refills today, I wandered through a couple shops in my neighborhood. I made it a point, as I always do, to browse my favorite thrift shop. Oooh, some sweet sofas! But nah, I’m good. Nice art too, but nothing that would work for me. And hey, I’m always looking for new specimens to add to my eclectic flatware collection…shit outta luck. *sigh*
And then, there he was.
A tiny gargoyle—technically a grotesque—perched nonchalantly on a shelf, snickering smugly at me as if I were the one with the $15 price sticker stuck to my back, a small, precarious and unprotected thing at the mercy of vast and wholly indifferent forces. Can you imagine?! The nerve of this fucker.
I intentionally ignored his gaze as I went about my business, picking through a basket of uninteresting scarfs. But suddenly it occurred to me that, well, he might just have a point. A really good point. Seems we had much in common, him and I, $15 sticker or no. And, well, that was it. He was coming home with me.
I think I’ll call him Clinton. (I have my reasons.)
I am hardly one for clutter, and I especially detest knick-knacks. But I think Clinton and I are going to be very good friends, for a very long time.