"Rainy afternoon in New York City I strolled antique shops. Block after block searching for something I was certain I thought I wanted. I got lost in the faces of the many that past. I reached one destination I had been to several times before. The smell as I first entered was that of the old,dewy and musty. I cringed but continued on my way.I lurked around the "red room" something very Parisian feel to it. Stars glowed down from the ceiling. Old bar counters surrounded the walls. I picked up a stack of old postcards from the 1890's to the 1920's. As my fingers brushed the writing almost to feel a sense of desperation from the corespondents.They only signed initials. Words were very few but endearing, loving and clinging to one another for survival. I wondered to myself as I tide a red satin bow gently around my new purchase placing them carefully wrapped in tissue together in a box. Did they get to share those moments they spoke of, if so I am assured it was never time spent being trivial ever."

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