We’re definitely in the extended family of shell art, the broad class of “things what someone bought at a rickety store near the beach to give to mom.” The fond memories of sand, seaweed, dead fish, seagull poop. This time, though, it’s crabs.
Weird, creepy little crabs, staring up at you. At least I think they’re crabs. They do look a bit like those bugs from Half Life, which are, in a sense, crabs.
This raises questions. Like what kind of crab finds a tiny, gilded inner tube to settle down in? And what startled them so? Or is there actually a species of crab that, against all laws of nature, really digs on ashtrays? How have recent anti-smoking laws affected them? Are they endangered? Are they sad? Can arthropods truly be said to feel sorrow?
How can you put a pricetag on this little guy? Look at him. Look at him looking at you. He loves you, and almost certainly isn’t going to leap from his shiny, gold-encrusted dish and leap from your head, making you its headcrab zombie minion. That never happens. Not at Goodwill, anyway. Of course, this IS Texas Thrift, not Goodwill, so anything goes, really.
Aaand they’re multiplying. Put down the ashtray, get out of the brick-a-brack section and into the comparative safety of housewares. Now. Seriously.
Texas Thrift, I35 near 51st. Just listen for the muffled screams.