I've completely accepted that several of my fascinations give other people the willies. I like to read and talk about macabre events in human history, I frequently do things that, if life were a film, would invite ghosts into my home, and on most days, I sport a bird skull necklace. So far, I haven't been murdered in my sleep by an angry spirit. I'm hoping for the best.
Most likely, my creepiest hobby involves purchasing old photos I find at thrift stores. Collecting other people's memories is probably the mark of the villain in someone's novel - or a bad SyFy special - but after so many trips to the various resale shops around town, the salespeople have started giving me piles of them for free. It worries me a little that they support my hobby so much, but I won't question it. Every odd duck needs an enabler.
At some point, I'm going to have to put all my weird little hobbies to good use. I've started with one photo I pulled from my latest score (a pile of 30 or so that the salesman plopped into my hands with an indifferent, "Why doesn't the lovely lady take all these on the house?"). It's a sailboat:
I assume whoever took it was on a family trip, based on other photos found in the stash. I don't know what they were thinking, or why they were alone that day looking out at the only other boat on the water, but for whatever reason, they wanted to remember that moment. Since it's not my memory, I can remember it however I want. And so, I did. I highly recommend a full screen, as there's a lot more detail that way.
I have an endless supply of "memories" to enhance or destroy as I please. I'm not sure I should be allowed that much power, but the salespeople of this city haven't said otherwise. I trust their judgement. I doubt they care that much about it to lie.
By the by, if anyone reading this has any photos they no longer care for, please do not send them my way. I might be a hoarder. Time will tell.