Hundreds of tables of old tools, seven brand new blue tractors, pots and pans, figurines, old pocket watches, and kitsch of every kind--that's a flea market. There are also treasures, which is why you go: Mike bought me a pink guitar (pronounced GIT-TAR by the man who sold it), new sandals, some pretty German building blocks ostensibly for Elena, and two watermelons. I felt like a rock star walking through the flea market with my pink guitar!
Among the back-of-their-truck vendors, there was much talk of the extreme heat. "I heard a man died last week," one man told us. "He was going in the cold house, out in the hot, then back in the cold," Then he ventured a guess as to the cause of death: "I believe it was hyperthermia."
Then we went out for prime rib and fried fish in Greenville--and enjoyed tinny ragtime music on an antique piano, accompanied by the player's friend playing spoons.
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