I dreamt I went to the…Bargersville outdoor flea market. Whoa. Stop the presses.

Bargersville is a stoplight in the middle of Bumfuck Egypt. A place in Indiana that is too small to have their own Wal-Mart. That's how small it is. I haven't been there for at least ten years. It must be my Southern White Trash coming out. I miss junk. There was plenty of it next door to us in West Virginia, where you show your wealth by displaying it all on your front lawn for everybody to see. Front porches sported either refrigerators, couches or sometimes entire sets of dining room chairs. Cars or motorcycles on the lawns. It don't matter if it runs or not. And what the fuck is it with those lawn ornaments? There'd be thousands of those things. Geese, chickens, deer, bent over grannies, ceramic or wooden flowers, iron shadows of hillbillies (talk about a redundancy). Our next door neighbour in Frederick showed off her ceramic salt and pepper shakers in every window in her house. There was one house in Maryland off of highway 85 that burnt down, that as of seven years later showed no signs of being torn down…and still has all the lawn junk there just where it was before the son of a bitch burnt down!!
I bought White Elephant junk in Maryland that has no purpose at all and kept in all in plastic tubs. There were too many junk shops to go to for me to resist. When unpacking I'd invariably say: "I still have this? I thought I'd gotten rid of it!" Canadians don't show all their junk like their kissin' cousins in the U.S. do. I wonder why?