Sign said Art Sale, with a very basic lightning bolt in black, and an arrow, no address. The white cardboard was stapled to the pole with large rusted staples and the lettering was faded like it had been there a while.
Tutbury and Vlad shrugged in unison and laughed at their unintended precision.
They were headed into a not-so-savory neighborhood, the Wagoneer already packed with a menagerie of items for their new-to-them colonial in East Wickamore.
On their second date they had drunkenly pledged to each other that if they ever cohabitated the house would be entirely furnished in garage sale and flea market finds. They kept the pledge, and were now overflowing with stuff and, almost inconceivably, over budget.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Jimmy Doom's Roulette Weal to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.