There is something somewhat magical about arriving at a field of dirt and scrubby grass in the pre-dawn hours of a Saturday morning. Most sane people, perhaps tired from a night out, are still in bed.
In this time designed for insomniac’s, third shift workers, and flea market vendors, the world is an incredible place. It’s quiet. It’s peaceful. It’s…
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! on the glass of the car window right next to your snoozing head. “Do you go any trains? Any jewelry?”
Bleary-eyed, you try to remember just what you threw into all those boxes and bins before lugging them into your car. “No, sorry,” you mutter, and the man moves on to knock on other flea market vendor’s car windows.
Two hours later, as you are putting the finishing touches on your flea market table, you discover Great Uncle Albert’s vintage train set and Grandma Marge’s costume jewelry at the bottom of a box and get a niggling feeling that they are important in some way.
You end up selling the lot for $5.00 at noon because you are so tired you can’t think straight anymore. As you walk up to the bathrooms before driving home, you see Great Uncle Albert’s vintage train set and Grandma Marge’s costume jewelry in the hands of the man who knocked on your window in the early morning chill.
He’s talking excitedly to the man next to him. “You can’t believe the bargain I got on these! Some guy was just giving them away for $50.00! I could probably get a couple hundred, easy!”
You cringe, and walk a little faster, the wad of singles and quarters bumping against your leg with every step.