A few weeks ago, my bag broke. I liked the bag, even though it was cheap. I think I got it at H&M. It was black leather, and sort of like a small sack, and the shoulder strap was composed of four chains of varying widths. When you plopped it down, it made a dramatic sound, that was the chains unfurling, like a metal snake. But, one day, the strap popped. For a while, I had it tied back together, but I worried it would break again, and then all my things would explode all over the floor of the supermarket or some other unfortunate place. So, I went to the places near where I lived. They were $150. $250. $600. That seemed stupid. Eventually, I went to the St. Vincent de Paul near where I live. Now through this journey I would occasionally think of this other cheap purse I used to have. I got it at Target, and it was lavender on the outside and lime green on the inside, but what was great about it was that it was enormous. Like, you could hide a puppy in it, literally and easily. It's great for the lady journalist, if she is running about and needs something into which she can stuff a camera and a digital recorder and pens and notepads and a cellphone and lipstick. So, lo and behold, there in the used purses section was the red version of the Target purse for which I had pined. (The lining is orange.) Someone had written $16 inside one of the pockets, but for some reason it was half off, so $8. I decided it was good because the Chinese think red is a sign of good luck and good fortune and maybe money. Here it is on the dresser with some other inexpensive assorted jewelry and a painting that a woman who is a narcoleptic gave me. It reads: "Do not disconnect from your own love socket."