by James Spiller

Created on: January 26, 2009

A Gypsy's Luck

The accounts that I am about to retell will undoubtedly draw skepticism. There is no logical explanation for the events that occurred on that warm, summer day, and try as I might, my mind comes to no reasonable conclusions. The worldly laws of science and nature disintegrated before my very eyes and left me questioning my core beliefs about the physical possibilities of the world we live in. I don't expect you to believe that the story I am going to recount was not a dream, for I scarcely believe it myself, but I assure you that everything that I am about to tell you is true.

The day started like any other lazy Sunday. Not being one for religion, my time was not consumed with church that morning and I had the entire day to spend as I pleased. After reading the paper and eating a bowl of cereal, I was left to wonder about where the day would take me. I contemplated going for a run, but was not in the mood to work up a sweat. I thought about going to see a movie, but as I scanned through the entertainment section of the paper I saw nothing of interest playing in the theaters. I then remembered that the previous day I had noticed a horrible rattle coming from the subwoofer in my car's trunk. After a few rudimentary tests I came to the conclusion that it had finally come to the end of its life. I decided that I would spend the morning trying to acquire a new one.
My finances dictated, however, that my disposable income would not allow me to purchase a brand new subwoofer. It would have to be used, and it would have to be cheap. But where was I to find such a thing? I racked my brain for several moments, until the answer finally came in the form of a full page newspaper advertisement. The flea market. Of course. The answer to my question was written in bold letters across the top of the page. This weekend only. I quickly showered, got dressed, and headed out to find a deal.

The smell of decomposing trash mingled with deep fried corn dogs and liberally sugared funnel cakes. The ground was littered with dirty scraps of paper, trampled popcorn kernels, and fresh bird droppings. I meandered through the parking lot-turned flea market without any specific direction. I passed table after table of elderly women and surprisingly young children hawking their wares. One table was stacked with an impressive collection of heavily worn footwear. Another had crates full of Nintendo cartridge games from the early 80's. One gentleman even asked me if I had found the

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