Maple and I woke up at 9am. Not exactly sure what to do Maple proposed that we go to a $5 and under “thrift store” in Barre, a conservative working class town adjacent to the capital of Vermont. Before we commenced our day in the town, we trotted downstairs for a bagel with Marianne Perchlik, age 56. After discussing our plans and touching on Marianne's past travels throughout Israel, we took a step outside only to be clouded by a dark and sad sky. Pressing through the pain, we revved the engine of our giant rental military tank of a car with New York plates. 

About a 20 minute drive, and we pulled through the back of Barre’s main center. Promptly finding a parking space with no adversity. But OH NO! Only to our discovery, we learned that we had to pay the meter in something the old people liked to call “change”, hows that for modernity? To our surprise we found two flat round circles of metal in our bag that seemed to be the perfect fit! This allotted us about 30 minutes to go on a little stroll through the up and coming town of Barre.

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After poking our heads in a few shops, including an eerily empty antique store with framed pictures of soup, Noah realized nature was calling.  Requesting to Maple that we go out the back door, Noah then huddled behind a dumpster and let it flow down onto the unsuspecting pavement. Walking down the alley in search of a way back onto the main street we accidentally landed at our intended location. The words “Amy’s Armoire” seemed to invite us in, and we were ready to experience the magic. Instantly our faces fell, as the grand owner stepped before us with a grand hand being offered to shake. The merchandise looked at us drabbly, almost begging for us to end its misery from under the fluorescent lights. Almost harmonizing with the purple and pink atmosphere sent our heads into a spin. I knew our time here would be short. Confused by the size of the clothing, we wondered if we arrived at the wrong establishment. We were overwhelmed by the clothing that appeared to have gone in a hot dryer, commonly referred to as baby clothing. Could this clothing fit my small pet ferret? Yes, definitely. Realizing why we came here: to dress ourselves rather than to discover ferret attire, we kept looking. Searching under and above, we looked for clothing of proper size. Our faces began to gray, as every second in Amy's Armoire seemed to age us 1000 years or more. Seeing all the youth clothing only seemed to have an adverse effect. Feeling a sense of deep hopelessness, we walked over to the outskirts of the store, which contained the only adult sized clothing available. To Noah’s disappointment the only thing to be found in the men’s minute selection were kirkland blue jeans in a size 40.