A few blocks down past the stadium, through the park, across the train tracks and past the bridge, there's a street with a few warehouses. They are brick buildings, the kind you see in New England towns, you know: mills, old factories. The street is silent and pretty much barren. It wouldn't be surprising to see a tumbleweed coming down the middle of the road.
Some of the clothing is crusty, stained and almost falling apart from age and use, but it's a real bank for ideas, characters and stories. You can't help thinking about your Gram and Mrs. Featherman and Aunt Nellie and Jackie O.
You should go.