I woke up this morning wanting a pair of green bootlaces, a pack of nag champa, a bandana, and a peach. Okay, so mainly what I wanted was a reason to go to the flea market. Where else can you sip a draft Bud while browsing through 70s country records, hot pants that say "Rebel Girl", and framed posters showing the last supper as portrayed by characters from Scarsface, The Godfather, and The Sopranos?
After the intense heat we suffered through this past month, I've managed to convince myself that fall's pretty much here already. Even with sweat running down my back while I strolled between aisles, following my nose to the incense, soap, and African medallians booth, I found myself saying things like, "Sure is cool out today," and "Looks like we survived another summer." And in a funny way, it's true. A local knows these things. You can feel that little edge when a breeze hits just right - that promise that soon we can pull out jackets and jeans and not die of the heat. That hint that the fair's just around the corner (elephant ear, anybody?). That I'd better start planning my Halloween party.
Between the fine weather, the self-delusion, and the fact that I managed to get everything I needed for under $5, the flea market couldn't have been better. How do you think I'd look in those hot pants?