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so I go into this thriftstore at lunchtime. I walked to the post office where I had on headphones and was interacting with a deaf man behind the counter, he had a big glossy book full of pictures of stamps, the page where he asks for payment, if you want insurance, anything like that. and so before I realized this, and as I realized it, I said, "breast cancer stamps", and I motioned to my chest, and thought in that moment that it probably was not the most appropriate thing to be pantomiming to this guy, and he missed it (thankfully) and I had to write it down on a dry erase board. he had gotten very good at writing things upside down so he didn't have to pass the board back and forth, he wrote out his numbers with great care. so I leave and I stop into this thrift store, thinking I might find a chair or cream colored corduroy blazer, and I have the headphones on, and I pull them off and go, is this just a thrift store? because there was so much stuff everywhere that I thought maybe it was just a drop off place in a storefront, and the woman takes my hand and goes, no, honey, you come in here. it's a magic thrift store. and proceeds to tell me it's a paywhatyoucan kinda thing, or whatyouthinkit'sworth, and I found the greatest chairs that rolled all around but they went with a seventies dining set that was up in the window. the place was a wreck. all old books and hotel toiletries, piles of leftover clothing, shoes that didn't match, and albums that had been put on tape and forgotten about in someone's glove compartment. I tried to find an old mix tape that someone had made and left behind, but there didn't seem to be any. I think we should all bring our goodwill piles there. it was amazing, somehow, and all the women working there talked casually about god to each other like it was talking about what they might like to have tomorrow at lunch. 

Victoria Uhl