EVERY SQUIRREL GETS A NUT NOW AND THEN.

I thrift.

Not the cute, leisurely kind where you wander through a perfectly organized store holding a coffee.

I mean digging through bins of questionable clothing like a caffeinated trash panda looking for buried treasure.

Most of the time, it's somebody's stretched-out Target T-shirt.

And then...

HOLY SH*T. JOHNNY WAS.

That's the high.

I buy the good stuff, the weird stuff, the overlooked stuff and the occasional “Who the hell donated THIS?” stuff—and give it another shot at life.

Some of it gets resold. Some of it gets upcycled. Some of it follows me home because apparently I have no adult supervision.

Is every thrift trip a jackpot?

F*ck no.

But every squirrel gets a nut now and then.

And apparently I'm willing to dig through 700 polyester blouses to find mine.

THRIFT. FLIP. REPEAT.
Until distracted by something shiny.