Most times when we travel we travel like the rag-bone man. By the end of each day our nails are like chimney pots and our nostrils and hair dusty and dank. Even when we ought to be cleaner we couldn’t be – because we are always distracted by old stores and scrapes and one scrape leads to another scrape. We find ourselves items we have more faith in keeping than selling. But today, today, I felt what it is like to sell something you wish you held on to.
Old things come from where I cannot go and they go where I cannot know. I feel closer to a hundred than fifty.