I saw Swiss Army Man today.
Before the movie, I visited the Salvation Army. For the past few years all my thrifting has been done at the Goodwill, and it's been over a decade since I've been to a Salvation Army.
The place was sprawling with endless clothes. I don't buy used clothes. There was lots of furniture, and on top of the furniture was artwork. More artwork, and at lower prices than at the Goodwill. Nothing really caught my eye though, and most of them looked like they wanted smaller frames. I'm more partial to owning originals, as well.
The book section was the only interesting bit, though it was far smaller than the Goodwill's. It had very few fiction novels, unless you count the religious texts that made up roughly 40% of the catalog, with political writings just as populous. To be specific, conservative political writings.
I found The Enemy Within, by Michael Savage, or who the sane refer to as "a lunatic." His writing was ridiculous and made me smirk, but I found many of the pages to be marred with notes contradicting his claims with actual rationality. These were enjoyable, and are the reason I picked up the book. I also found the New JPS Tanakh, the holy hebrew scriptures, and picked that up as well. It also had the occasional note in it as well, though I picked it up moreso out of scholarly interest.

I was the first to arrive for the movie, but eight more eventually followed. Quiet theater. This is good.
No one talked during the movie. No one pulled out their phone. No one even stood up to use the restroom. Even the pair of guys with popcorn made no crunchy noises. The only sound was laughter.
When the credits rolled, no one stood up. I think we were all collectively pondering what the fuck we'd just watched.

After the movie, I walked past a little girl who'd just crashed her toy car, then started kicking it. She kicked it towards me in some attempt to get my attention, but I didn't pay her a glance.
Someone walked by in what appeared to be a pattern of traditional african colors (or at least the stereotype of them), sagging his pants so low you could see the skin below his white briefs. This was weird.
Three people walked by me a minute later with cotton candy-dyed hair, and it made me wonder what their heads might taste like.