A glint caught my eyes, metal in a box of plastic. Frowning, I dug in and fished it out: heavier than it ought to have been. A man, cast in… old bronze? Reaching out in supplication, as if warding something off.
Matthew looked over my shoulder. “What is that? Han Solo in carbonite?”
“No. I don’t know what he is.”
“Something else for the curiosity shelf?”
“I think so.”
I paid the fifty cents for that and two dollars for an old bracelet – slipped the bracelet into my pocket, but carried the little man, running my fingers along his back.