The weekends are my time to search for new items. I love, (well most days), I love searching the racks for treasures.
All my senses are alert, my hands run over the fabric cataloging wear and condition of the fabric, the smoothness I covet, the rough pill-balls I can’t stand. My eyes search for new colors, for the right cut, something better, scrutinizing dirt. My nose wrinkles and twitches as I smell decades old cologne, smoke, life caught in the fabric of these jackets and shirts. Perhaps taste is connected here, as sometimes the scents so strong linger between the nose and the mouth. My ears are bombarded with vast extremes of music, dialects and the sound of fabric on hangers and against my hand. It is as I search that I know I am truly doing something I love.