Teacups, torn books and a broken ring finger. Found items at the bottom of the garage sale. Last one for the year, first one of the week. Total cash sale made after the long afternoon, only $21.50. That man in khakis and thongs got a bargain when he haggled down that bike with no seat. Joke's on him though, it doesn't have a rear reflector.
Old lady with a cane walked away with a zoetrope. She could not stop looking at it and as a complement, managed to snag a View-Master. No slides though. Those were all lost in the great fire of forgetting that they aren't stove top covers with the little one managing to slip one in under the covers. Shame, everything looks so two-dimensional after getting lost in the stereoscope.
Under the hidden driveway, the one with the non-existent car, we found a box of dolls in drab and leg chains. Chain gang most likely. Save for one who appears to have broken the link. Can't escape though. Little doll legs can only run so fast when they don't work at all. It was the same doll that reneged on their Faustian deal. Something about living a more playful life in exchange for their soul. Just like those nasty djinn and corporate lawyers, you have to watch your wording exact. One chance to write, many ways to interpret in their favour. In the end it all comes down to angles of genuflection.
Those dolls sold to a teenager dressed in black, wearing whiteface and a jangle of chains on each step. Smelled like Rosemary. And she smelled like New England style clam chowder. The nose knows how to trigger the gag reflex.
The ring finger was a bonus. It was already broken and dug up from the backyard by the dog. But when you're putting an item on the lawn and have no idea who it belongs to, it's just pure profit. Rumour has it the person who did walk away with it ended up in their own grave a few weeks later when they chewed on the finger one late midnight as a snack. Buyer, be wary eating antiques.
Written on Monday, 31 December 2012