My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

Collin came with me down to the flea market. They seem to all be next to a freeway around here. Too many times have people said, “Rolston, you’re kinda weird.”

Well, have you been to a flea market lately? Collin whispers into the plastic sippy lid of his coffee as we pull into the lot, “We’re mixin’ with the lifers.”

I paused, both hands on the wheel as I looked into the open jaw of the ass end of another box truck and thought, “Oh my god. My people.”

Folding tables with legs still nested wedged between boxes, bins and a large dresser. A birdcage and a chandelier. A cup of coffee and a flashlight.

There are some people you talk to at the flea market you would only otherwise meet in county lock up for a drunk in public charge. There are also people with sexualities that are closeted at the mall in full bloom around the porta potties here. You have Chinese guys even the Chinese don’t get. There was a man in leather pants and barefeet with a customized tool belt around his wrist. A wrench, a screwdriver and pliers sheathed in leather like a homeless superhero. The young, the old, the living dead, they all refuse to pay your asking price.