When I was in San Diego preparing for Artwalk (the whole sordid tale can be found on ye aulde blogue) I frequented a thrift store called Pat's Corner. I struck junk gold there. A lot of the pieces I did for the festival used stuff found at Pat's. She sat in the middle of the store like a queen. I never saw her out of her throne. The throne, a humble chair, was slightly raised and surrounded by junk unimaginable. I would not be at all surprised to find Jimmy Hoffa's dentures under an old Mad Magazine on the floor. From atop this post she'd size up your finds and with the arbitrary certainty of thrift store wisdom would arrive at a price you could never argue with. It was usually rounded of to a fiver.

My last time in there I talked to her for a bit. She seemed to approve of the artistic madmanship I planned for the items I bought. She would only let me take a picture of her hands. They do better job at describing the place than my words ever could.