Dear Filene’s Basement,
I miss you. You absorbed hours of my time and I paid you for the privilege. You had no windows, and you didn’t smell so hot, and often what I bought was not in reality usable for me, but ours was a great, possibly dysfunctional, love affair.
I often didn’t know on my way home from work whether I was going to stop at Downtown Crossing until it was happening.
I kind of wish I had participated in your gladiator-esque wedding dress sales just for fun. I feel like it would have really capped our time together.
But I moved away, and I heard you closed. It’s better. You weren’t made for this modern world, Filene’s Basement. This world where dirt cheap stuff is available online. You can’t touch anything online. You can’t check the zippers or the label or the feel of the fabric. And there is no smell.
I’ll always remember you and your bins of shoes,
-e.