A grubby hand punches through the open window of my musty-smelling estate demanding money; his arm hairs tickle my nose and my eye follows his pointed finger along a muddy track to a youth wearing an oversized radioactive green hi-viz gillet. The youth beckons me onwards, stopping me with a Native American How, indicating my trading spot for the next four hours.
Mourning my Sunday paper lie-in, I unload a horde of essential-at-the-time junk onto the dewy grass and fight with the bent legs of my dad’s saggy pasting table to display my dusty bargains. Professional car-booters rootle through my unwanted chattels with black-Friday style abandon, firing questions at me like a Guantanamo Bay interrogation:
Yes, and I’ve put them in a special box along with the Faberge Egg over there, marked MUG.
‘How much for Alanis Morrisette, luv?’
‘CD’s? 50p.... luv.’ I say, getting the hang of the lingo.
Rummaging around in his jeans pocket he places a groinally heated coin into the palm of my hand which I throw like a burning ember into my cash tin.
A woman grinds the fabric of a Next suit my husband bought for a christening between her nicotine-stained fingers, sniffing the length of the trousers like a lover kissing a woman’s arm.
‘It’s only been worn once,’ I offer, '£3?'
'50p? It's for my son, for court. It might not fit and I don't want to take the risk.'
'£2? You can't get much for two quid these days.'
'Sorry luv, 50p's me limit, its the risk...'.
'Yes, you said. Fine. Far be it from me to deny your son a decent outfit to wear in court. What's he done?'
'Nothing luv, he's the brief!’
FlashFlood is OPEN and ready for your submissions! We will open for submissions from 00:01 BST on 2 May to 23:59 BST on 8 May. Over the nex...
We'd like to mark the end of 2020 with a little celebration of this year's FlashFlood writers. Congratulations to the following wri...
A shaft of sunlight fell across the worn herringbone floor, drawing his gaze upwards to the flawless blue sky beyond the row of windows, ...
How’d you do it, girl? Waitressing part-time at Steak ‘n’ Shake since the day after your sixteenth birthday, working weekends through high s...