You know those places. Those gritty roadside paradises that are Mecca for lost and forgotten junk that span across the ages. She lives there. The broken little doll, dusty from years spent atop a lonely shelf. Its sad sometimes, to think of her, of all the glorious, antiquated, unconquered marvels sitting on that shelf, hoping one day to be uncovered and enjoyed.

But no one will find them. No one will rescue the dainty, golden haired princess from her perch. She will sit there, staring blankly through the grimy, cracked windows watching the harsh desert sands blow in, covering the floors with a neverending collection of grime.

The old roadside shop is closed. Has been for years when the owners could no longer bear the sad desolation of Route 66. Barely a car comes down the road, past the old shop. She dreams that one day, one of those cars will stop, and take her from the hot and aching place of misery and hopelessness.

But for now she sits, and waits patiently, like a princess awaiting her knight.