“Is this for sale?” I ask,
pointing to the chain saw.
“No, the chain saw and golf clubs
aren’t for sale,” replies the ancient-looking
“Thanks,” I say and continue wandering from table
to table. Soon I find an autographed photo of an old B-movie
actor with his simian co-star. I never liked his films. Moving
on, I see a book titled, What I Did During the Vietnam War.
I consider buying it until I discover the last few chapters
The old man is now busy rearranging an assortment of ceramic
jars on the table to my immediate left. He looks up as I approach.
“Find anything you like?” he asks.
“Not yet, but you do have some unique items. Why are
you selling all this?”
“It’s my friend’s stuff. He found a new
job and is moving to Washington. He asked to help him sell
a few things.”
I notice that all of the ceramic jars have corks and are labeled.
The largest one is “Ego.” Other jars have names
like “Faith,” “Family,” “Greed,”
and “Envy.” One of the smallest jars is on its
side, its cork missing. Turning over the empty jar, I see
it is marked “Compassion.”
“This is quite a collection of jars here,” I remark.
“Your friend seems to have a jar for everything but
A boyish grin crosses the old man’s face and he laughs.
“I think he sold that one a long