I adore Fall almost as much as I love Winter, but there are things that I miss in the cooler months: decent spinach, swimming, the Red House. But I miss flea markets most. There is nothing I would rather do than get up on the cusp of dawn and make my way to a dew-covered field, just like this one a few weeks ago:
I'm like a fish to water when surrounded by crap on blankets, spread out on the grass, in the backs of cars. One day I will disappear in a flea market, never to be seen again. People will ask, "Wherever did Nick go?" and Steven will sadly reply, "He ran off with the flea market."
When I make my escape, I will be wearing something like this:
My partner Steven says I look like a longshoreman, but this is utterly practical, my revolutionary costume du jour. Hands free, head warm but not hot, sailing bag stocked with banana and canteen, and enough space to carry everything I can buy before my money runs out. I will forever be grateful to my friend Paul's mom, Jeanne van Etten, for the gift of this bag ages ago.
All I can say is that it better snow a lot this Winter, to sooth this wounded heart until the Spring markets begin.