If you were lucky, you were allowed to be a mild hoarder as a child. Back then, everything felt as though it had value. Wrappers off of lollipops, seashells and baseball cards acted as currency in that Fort Knox you called a bedroom. The cards you kept in either a shoebox (“extras, or lesser cards”) or a photo album (“worth something someday”). They seemed so important then, as though your entire future revolved their appreciating, like a dreamer's trust fund. Now, you know better. Or do you? That’s the... More >>>