When I was a child, my parents owned an old factory building that they rented out to local commercial businesses. One of these businesses was “the drapery man” — his workshop was always filled with rolls of expensive fabrics, various on-going upholstery projects, and the sound of industrial sewing machines banging threads through layers of fabrics. I was mesmerized and would often pester him after school with lots of questions. He would let me take home his remnant fabrics, probably to get me to leave so he could go back to work.