I’ve always dreamed of living the life of a yard sale junky — always on the hunt for treasure, always filled with the hope of finding a 1959 Fender Stratocaster for $50 or a complete vintage 12″ Boba Fett figure for a buck or an old picture frame with an original copy of the Declaration of Independence hidden inside.
That dream will always be out of reach to me, as it requires getting up early on weekends. I only get the Mondays where those who had a yard sale found it easier to put out a “Free Stuff” sign than gather up the leftovers for the trash man.
So if you need that black thing, whatever the heck it is, or a half-used notepad soggy with morning dew then rush on over to 44th St. NW, near the intersection of Reservoir Rd. Forget about the rug, it’s already sitting by my door.