I have a bad habit of ascribing human emotions to inanimate objects. My childhood imaginary friend was Charlie the Cloud. I have been known to apologize to my car if I ever expressed frustration at her.
This may be one reason why I love antique stores, though specifically I love the “junk shop” variety of antique stores. The items in higher-end boutiques may be beautiful but are probably obnoxiously snooty.
But in the junk shops, I always have the sense that all the inhabitants know they are someone’s throwaways, but they take comfort in each other’s company and watch out after one another. Some tenants come and go, and some stay forever, but it doesn’t matter. They’ve made a new home for themselves.