I sat on a bright yellow chair in the bright yellow sun. It was for sale, for a dollar. Everything was. Three little French boys lurked around, touching everything, grubby fingers pulling and prodding. "Combien?" Every two seconds. The smallest one picked up another shopper's cell phone, he wanted to buy it. He was quick that kid. Next, he was opening the cash box. Although he did turn a bit red when he realised. My boyfriend gave them the mini tramp without legs. They rolled it away quite satisfied. I was glad nothing of mine was for sale. I don't like people looking at my things like that, it makes me uncomfortable. I went to a deceased estate sale once. The house of the dead man was exactly as he had left it. We shuffled through, making offers on anything and everything. Sifting through the still full kitchen and bedroom drawers. Hunting in the closets, in the bathroom cabinets. It didn't feel polite. But I got a cheap set of golf clubs, so I was happy.