I went to Paducah, Kentucky last year. Its main street boasts many second-hand stores; shops full of someone’s memories, soon to become someone else’s present. Most of those establishments were dimly lit with creaking wooden floors.
It was the smell though that was over-powering, almost eye-watering with age and mold. Antiquity seems to have a melancholy smell, like left-overs from by-gone days.
Someone sold Grandma’s porcelain bride doll for a few pennies. I think she never would have parted with that doll. It’d sat on her bed for nearly 60 years, a gift from her Dad on her wedding day.
(100 words for Friday Fictioneers)