018 Five Objects

[brigid]

Mirrored from brigidkeely.com/wordpress.

There’s a small shop on Belmont, in a gentrifying area. It’s flanked by a doggy day spa and a shoe boutique, and it used to be a private residence that somebody converted into a store front. There’s a large window on the second floor which has an American flag with 37 stars tacked up like a curtain. It pushes against the window in places, where stacked up objects behind it have fallen forward.

All of the windows are grimy, streaked with grey dust and grit, and bits and pieces are stacked haphazardly: a canister vacuum cleaner; a display case of hummel figurines; a small book case; a red ryder BB gun; a mahogany chest; chippendale chairs. They fit together like pieces of a puzzle, of a barricade. The front door, despite the “open” sign on it, is impassable with junk.

You will need to go around the corner and down the alley, and enter through the back door. If you have asthma, you would be wise to bring a dust mask. Come alone, and bring five silver dollars.

You will find five objects, each small enough to be carried away easily. Each will call to you, will feel right in your hand. Before you leave, put your five silver dollars in the crockery jar by the back door. You will cut your finger on the lid; do not try to avoid it.

Each object will answer a great need at some point in your life, if you can hang on to them. They have a tendency to vanish when you need them the most, however.

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