Sunday, March 6, 2011
JUNK STORES
One of my earliest and fondest memories is going to a junk store with my mom. Love at first sight. The musty smell, the ancient dust, and all the junk. I fucking love a junk store. Now, a junk store is different than a thrift store in that it has no rhyme or reason in it's organization. A thrift store has it's home-ware section, it's clothing section, it's bric a brac section. But the glory of a junk store is that all these sections are one. You really have to hunt, and really have to want something bad enough to dig for it. Old clothes are buried under a pile of wooden crates in that corner, bottles from the 1800's are stacked on a 1920's shop table in that corner. Seaman trunks? right over there. Metal, finger-biting fans? stack of 'em upstairs. Got 30 pounds of lace? As a matter of fact son, I do. Upstairs, second room to the right. 5 bucks a pound. (true story) It's a chaotic jumble and balenced ballet all in one. I love a junk store more than just about anything. A good one is like winning a lottery that nobody gives a shit about. Most of these photos are from my fav-o-rite one in new england. Enjoy!
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Oh... you are so right. There is nothing like a great junk shop. In the tiny town I grew up in we had 'The Crows Nest'. It was a crazy cool old couple who had collected jumk their whole lives, and maybe out of love for their children decided to put up a sign and sell it off before they died. It was amazing. They've been gone for many years, but my love of junk was born there.
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