He saw all kinds of figurines, mostly glass ballerinas. There was a picture on the wall. It was a younger woman, a much younger woman dressed in a pre...ty dress. ‘This was stupid,’ he thought, but he gave the picture a closer look. It looked a lot like Florence, or how Florence might have looked years ago. The more he looked around, the more junk, woman junk, he saw. He had no idea Florence was such a collector, a collector of such little things, tiny delicate little things, girlish, feminine. I’m standing in an aisle in any store. A couple is there and the wife bends over. I’m standing next to the husband or whoever and we both see the woman’s panties and the crack of her ass. I’m supposed to ignore the scene but I can’t. The man sees what I’m looking at and smiles at me. How am I suppose to take it? I would love to say, ‘Nice ass. Mind if I touch it?’ Yet the man just stands and stares at his wife’s ass too. I’m never sure what to say or do. I go in another aisle and the woman has. More

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