Junk shops, or as some more kindly call them antique stores, hold endless fascination for me. Filled with objects from an earlier day and crammed to the rafters with every conceivable gadget I'm captivated as soon as I walk in.
Perusing the cluttered aisles, I'm on a treasure hunt with no shovel required. Castoff items patiently waiting to be rediscovered, their years of service evident in the small chips and missing paint. They are tangible links to a past generation far removed from laptops, Ipods, and Smartphones.
These shops have their own unique odor, a combination of disuse and mustiness that seems apropos. I breath in deeply and wonder if my appliances will last long enough to attract future buyers? We live in a disposable world so I have my doubts, but it's fun to imagine what items might fill these shelves long after I'm gone.