I spent some alone time at a flea market near where I live this afternoon. I'd heard mixed reviews but it was only a dollar to park so I decided to give it a go. I take after my dad when it comes to nic-nacs. Someone else's junk is usually a misunderstood treasure. He would have loved and hated this place. Many people had shelves and shelves full of treasures, and others not so much. But as I walked through alone I looked and looked it was nice to have my camera along, an excuse not to buy. I did come home with one thing, a copy of John Steinbeck's The Red Pony. It was 1.50 and I paid in quarters.
Then I went to James' house and we fell asleep on the couch watching the race. My head on his shoulder, his head on mine. I remember laps 130, 68, 32, and the victory interview. All in all a delightful, restful day.
