The floor at the Giant Garage Sale was as fascinating as the tabletops, maybe a bit more mysterious-stuff thrown in boxes, stacked and piled. Things leaning, dropped, tossed.
Sweaters styled fifty years ago but never worn. Paintings of deep blue seas and mist shrouded mountains, portraits of fish and chickens, dozens of sad-eyed, pensive girls.
And boy clowns.
Lastly, this is what I bought, and brought home with me. Not things I normally want, but who knows why we want what we want?
Maybe knowing why takes all the fun out of it.