The Sewing Machine Shop

Was smooth talked into buying a new machine today.

I barely scraped enough energy to take my wee Singer Featherweight in for repairs. It failed after punishment of denim and broken needles.

The little repair shop was sprawling with machines. Some new, mostly old and a few really old from the 40s. They were the most beautiful.

The owner was a Greek guy called Tony. He was surrounded, almost buried by the hoard of machines. He's a fast sales talker but very knowledgeable. Next thing I knew, I relinquished my Featherweight for a bigger secondhand machine for not much less than the cost of a new model.

After that venture, I spent the rest of the day limp on the couch, dosed up to the eyeballs having psychedelic dreams.

My new sewing machine.