A couple of weeks ago I drove to the hardware store down the street for some painting supplies. This hardware store is not a chain, it's one of those corner store local places, the kind that my dad took me to as a kid on one of his many home or car improvement projects that bored the urge to do the same right out of me. (When I was a teenager, there was this particularly dark hardware store near the shopping district with a grumpy elderly woman as the owner. I've forgotten her name but every teen boy knew it because she was always glowering in the shadows just waiting so she could accuse us of stealing nails because that's what teenage boys want). I still have no desire to do things that require a trip to the hardware store, and am still somewhat intimidated when walking into this one, but this was easy -- just a paint roller and a couple rollers and I'd be on my way. I approached the counter, which is high up and contains all kinds of doo-dad, impulse items...
Up all hours talking baseball, cardboard & collecting