I sometimes work as a photo researcher in order to earn money to buy ridiculous quantities of fresh fruit*, and I come across all kinds of fabulous, kooky, mysterious, sad, inspiring photos. I like to share my finds, and since I recently wrote a story that takes place in a pawn shop, that’s what you’re going to get.

In my teen years, I spent a lot of time rummaging through second-hand and thrift stores, usually looking for some appalling seventies hostess gown that I could dissect and, with my very rudimentary sewing skills, Frankenstein into my idea of fashion. I loved the lives and ideas and the *history*  that welled up in me when I walked into one of those places. The friction I felt was like walking into a library, all those second-hand and gently (and not-so-gently) used goods were just PACKED with stories. I could feel them. I swear. They were stories that I was going to gruesomely cut up and make into new stories, sure, but isn’t that what all good stories are? Little pieces of history and experience stitched together in a new way.

Once, I was shopping with a friend who liked to think he was all goth, and he said, “Eww, maybe the person who wore that is dead. Doesn’t that creep you out, to wear a dead person’s clothes?” But, I kind of liked the idea. They were dead, but their clothes were still here. And I was going to take them out of the closet and show them a good time.

I thought I was good with the second-hand market until I had a boyfriend who dragged me into a pawn shop looking for old tube amps. Now, *that* was a creepy place. It might have been full of stories, but they weren’t good stories. Instead of the bored/dotty/nosy/grumpy old lady behind the counter there was some big guy in a sleeveless T-shirt and a handlebar moustache. At the time, I don’t think I understood that “pawn” meant a place cash-strapped people went to raise money. I just knew it was a place where I didn’t feel welcome.

*Peaches are the best fruit there is in the world ever, and Monkey** agrees.

**Relevant bit at 10:03

Photos courtesy the Library of Congress and the National Archive