"On an unseasonably warm November night in Manhattan on our way to get ice cream, we stumbled upon what appeared to be a vintage shop, brightly lit display window and all. As we began to walk in, a man sitting out front warned us that we were welcome to explore, but nothing inside was for sale. Our interests piqued, we began to browse through the collections the man out front had built throughout his life. This is a story of a man and his home."
—You should watch the fairly short film This Is My Home, particularly if you still have a tiny capacity for happiness. Of course I am predisposed to like this because the guy says the word "beautiful" exactly the same way that my grandmother did, but there are plenty of other reasons.