Flagstaff, AZ, is a college town filled with old buildings with cool old signs (we actually stayed in a motel that was over 100 years old, and looked very much like a quaint little whorehouse, if there is such a thing. I, in my antique slip and petticoat, fit right in). And the thrift stores were so good, they rivaled Southern California’s. When I get to knowing that a thrift store is particularly bountiful, I turn into a chicken - my eyes scanning the racks at a frantic pace, my head flicking this way and that, my heart beating rapidly. Do chicken's have fast beating hearts? All I know is sometimes I see myself outside myself, and then I say to my onlooker self "Look at that chicken go." I’ve already sold off a lot of my thrifted loot at the flea market, but I did find for myself a dream cowgirl dress - a black 60s glitter wiggle with white fringe trim. I’ll show you some photos of it soon, and I’m definitely bringing it to Mississippi, a trip that is just around the bend. Stay tuned for a few more Arizona posts this week.