*A note for international readers: Goodwill is an American thrift store that sells “gently used merchandise” such as clothing, electronics, furniture and various knick-knacks. It is known for its large, packed floor space and plethora of useless doodads.*

         Perched in solitude atop a rickety rocking chair is an unusually wise and expertly aged understanding. It sits among discarded holiday decorations and broken beach toys to watch the treasured past become prospective man’s dusty décor like a fine wine in an old corner store ice box. Technicolor and rust colored relics and decrepit scraps with no color at all lie- not forgotten but no longer cherished- on the shelves like dead things in wait to be buried. Shovels are without their pails. Santas are without their ruby red coats and Mrs. Claus is nowhere to be seen. Nothing matches and yet one thing remains; everything that once meant something has now lost its worth.  The unseen loneliness of the past clings closer than the cobwebs, hides in all the corners, creeps down the aisles and curls around every customer like an ankle-biter soliciting for attention. It demands to be felt. A caveat for the dangers of commercialism and materialism: nothing lasts forever.


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