squirreled

not everything is worth buying, gazing at things comes in as a second close. the day bell and i stroll over the flea market, just before the clouds above our heads open up without further ado, i bump into a man selling this. i ask the seller politely if i can take a picture of his batch. he scratches his five o’clock shadow extensively (never a good sign), i can see his squirrel mind working overtime. he starts grinning, for having come up with a clever solution. then he screeches, ‘how much you pay me for taking the photo’? i go, yeah, and at that same time press the release button on my camera. i’ll bet i got him framed. i leave the squirrels behind in their box. we would not agree on anything anyway. [more vintage stories on her library adventures]