Years ago, at an early-morning flea market in Rowley, MA, I was introduced to a mad thing named Bob Driscoll. Shortly afterwards, I bought a huge framed print of the Sacred Heart from him, which I later de-acquisitioned when Simon and I wired it to a tree at the entrance to a nearby Christian college. (It remained in place for weeks, I hope because officials may have been afraid that their superiors could have authorized it.) Now Bob has set up shop just down the hill from us on East Main Street in the basement of the Beacon Marine building. This is dangerous for me. I regularly toddle down on a Saturday, just looking, and return with (at least) one of his $20 vintage handknit sweaters or $15 linen shirts or $30 Harris Tweed blazers. Bob and David are always welcoming, always quietly eager to point out their latest finds (like these tabletops from a defunct Mexican restaurant) and always very tight-lipped when I ask, “Where do you find this stuff?” I’ve already sent many people their way, all of them emerging from the store heavily laden. Open all year. Go.