Yesterday at midday, I found myself in a place I knew I shouldn’t be. Leesa and I had motored to the town of Essex, Mass, the self-proclaimed “Antique Capital of America” and I shouldn’t be in such a place because of the profound temptation is presents. It’s a collection of serious shops for serious collectors who can spend serious money. In the first instance, we entered the emporium of one David Neligan, formerly of Ridgefield, Connecticut, and, when he and I hit it off, I knew I was in trouble. I told Mr Neligan I lived for a time in Woodbury, Conn, home to a two mile stretch of exquisite antique shops. “Oh, I know Woodbury,” he noted. “We do a lot of business over there.” I mentioned rocker Rob Zombie, who lived in the village for 10 minutes, got into a dispute over a skate park for children. “I had no idea of either of those facts,” Mr N allowed smiling. I've been in the thrall of old furniture for most of my life and I think I know why.
© 2024 John Oliver
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