The Bag Lady makes me want to take up Tarot. And dip my toe into goddess worship. And make my own wand (it sells at least one book on home wand making).
It smells pleasantly of incense and the faintest whiff of crazy, and every time I pass through, I imagine my life as it would be filled with swishy skirts, long hair, beautiful but odd jewelry, and a straight left turn toward the spiritual.
As it is, the naturalist in me likes to peer into the ever-wistful world of The Bag Lady, but I never really stay very long. I do like to visit, though. It makes me feel like I'm in Rivendell.