We have the pleasure of living in the midst of suburbia and country life. A couple of miles from our apartment is the closest mall, and a couple of miles the other way is the county fair and greenhouses.
You know it's summer in these parts when the red signs come out and random people start breaking for no apparent reason. That's until you look at the side of the road and see a beautiful rocking chair or a nice basket. Then you start breaking yourself, inadvertently pissing off the people behind you until they see the rocking chair. Before you know it, a dozen people are glowing over this chair, and then making bids with the owner. The owner themselves, just wants to get rid of it for any cost.
It becomes warfare mid-July, instead of being Saturday 10am to whenever, it's Saturday 6am first come, first serve. People wake up their loved ones before dawn, bruising marriages along with it and then venture out into the unknown. Sometimes getting lost and ending up 30 miles from where you intended of going.
Then you hit the jackpot, the little hoarder on the outskirts of town. The little old lady who never got rid of that antique tea pot collection or the vintage mason jars from the 20's. You recieve all of the little knickknacks and furniture on a dime that you've been hunting for. Making this entire ordeal seem somewhat reasonable.
Until you look at your wallet... and your gas tank.
Wish us luck, along with myself, venturing out into new neighborhoods, and getting that steal. Pray for our marriages, where we bicker over the silliest of things, the 70's Pepsi truck that has enough lead to kill a person or the coffee table with the broken leg. And thank god when we return, with stories to tell and a little piece of something that almost got lost.