I have a lot of puffy-heart feelings about New Jersey, but her antique and thrift stores are life-giving. Living in New York nearly killed me, not because on any given day a tiny old man might hock up a big snot ball and spit it onto my boot (that really happened to me), but because there weren’t any good thrift stores. A vintage plate in an NYC Goodwill might cost $20. To add insult to thrift injury, I couldn’t bring home curb-side finds because not only were they few and far between, and not only did my arm muscles prove to be weak and incapable of dragging furniture half a mile (that happened once), but those curb-side treasures were likely hosting a multi-generational housing complex of bed bugs ready and willing to party all over our apartment (that also happened and my eye still twitches when I think about it).
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