Fleamarket

         Now Listen: The flea market can be a magical place. Sometimes full of treasures for next to nothing, sometimes full of dreams in need of only minor restoration. But on this particular day, at this particular flea Market there seemed no magic at all. I had found nothing of even remote interest, which was odd for me, and was half-way through the middle Row when a peculiar table seemed to stand out. Why? I don't know. It was strewn with junk, and I do mean junk. Broken bits of useless and rusty machinery, cracked Pottery, dirty slats of wood, trash. This was truly a collection of garbage, that even I, a Human Pack-Rat, would have thrown away without a second thought. Perhaps that's why I had to look closer. But still, I saw nothing of interest, and was turning to look at the next table, when it caught my eye. A small Bit of bright orange and yellow almost hidden beneath a board in the rubble. As I picked this object up, I was hit by the freight train of memory, instantly transported back to childhood. I was four years old, and holding the very same object. A small orange plastic Oscar-Mayer Weiner mobile whistle. My dad had given it to Me, and I was marching about the Lawn, Furiously tooting the only two notes the Whistle was able to produce, and singing proudly the Oscar-Mayer Wiener song. I was a King! I was Oscar himself! I was on top of the world.
      I lost the whistle some point later that same Day, and was crushed. Odd. I never forgot that afternoon. With a blink it was the present again and my daydream was being interrupted by a voice.
     "Have a hotdog" the voice said.
     It was came from the inside of a dark van, the owner simply a dark shape with a Cheshire cat smile
    "I will," I replied, "How much?"
    "I said HAVE a hotdog" and then the voice added "It's Yours, Take It."
    "Thank You," I said to the unseen speaker, "thank you."
     As I walked away, I became more and more sure that if I were to turn and look back, I would see only an empty Stall. Perhaps a crushed Can, or a dirty Nacho Plate, or simply dust swirling in a lazy whirlwind.
    I didn't look back
    "Thank You" I said quietly, and continued on my way.