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Word Prompt: Sunday

In the dark, headlights sweep the lot as cars pull in and find their spots – assigned by a hunchbacked woman patrolling the main gate. Front doors slam, sleepy mouths yawn, familiar faces wave and nod hello. Then rear doors open, metal feet scrape across the ground, cardboard boxes stacked atop the asphalt.

Silhouettes drag merchandise from trucks and set up tents side by side. Faint blue light warms the eastern sky. Morning is near, though hours from heating the shadows hard at work arranging handmade crafts for the Sunday shoppers soon to come. Forgoing church for art and bargain-sale prices. The new age way of life.

They’ll come in droves to wander aisles and rows. Sniff homemade candles. Admire jewelry and clothes. The blood and soul of each merchant is bared for all to see. And pay. When cash exchanges hands, it’s a successful day.

And day is fast-approaching, the sun driving vendors to finish their displays before the first customer appears. Here they come, pushing strollers, pulling carts. Another weekend at the Rose Bowl Flea Market begins.

 

– Written by Miss A

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About 365 Things to Write About

I'm inspired by almost anything and everything creative - nature, architecture, art, words, music...I like to roam along streets, through foreign countries, and within my mind where the world is full of endless possibilities. I dream of being an idealist, but I've experienced too many harsh realities for that wish to ever be true. Therefore, I look for the hope and the good in small nuances, and I express my thoughts and feelings about the world around me on pages and canvases whenever I can.

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