Hit a few estate sales this weekend — wasn’t hard to hold myself back since there were really only two that sounded worthwhile. Wasn’t looking for anything in particular, and didn’t find anything either, except for some nice old photos: three of Rhode Island Reds — poultry-fancying was evident in the deceased’s collection of books, magazines, and memorabilia — and two rather charming pictures of what appears to be a fat cigar-smoking guy named Jack in the middle of a brace of lasses (his name’s on the back of one, in a woman’s hand, “Millie, Jack and I”). He certainly seemed to like getting his squeeze on. Bit of a leer to our Jack.
Old pictures tell stories, but they don’t tell nearly enough. Or perhaps they do. I suppose I wouldn’t have bought the photos if they didn’t invite so much speculation.
If I can find suitable frames, I suppose Jack and his lady friends will find a home in the Bathroom of the Dead. The chickens, on the other hand … hell, what am I going to do with snapshots of show-chickens from the 40’s?