Flea Markets Are Like Dating, or Maybe Not...
I enjoy flea markets. I love fleaing. Ur, no, no – not fleeing. We’re not talking about dating when you’re 50+ today. Or, maybe we are. The quality rankings of fleaing could apply to dating. But then we humans can make pretty much anything (Hey! Quantum physics!) apply to our mating rituals. But I digress. ANYHOO… I can spend hours and hours marveling that someone somewhere actually bought the turquoise/burnt orange/rusted/broken gizmoy thingie in the first place. What the hell is it anyway; good lord is that really three zeros on the price tag!? WHAT is the dealer smoking? Now, that I’d buy – must be really good shit, man. For those of you who may be new to the fine art of fleaing, here are some basics: Fundamental law that applies to all...
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