What can YOU say in six sentences?
Deena was on her third house, and it was only nine.
A few people were milling around, picking up old lamps and putting them down, inspecting faded baby clothes--a section she avoided like the plague--like picky customer's in an upscale botique.
Deena's obsession with yard sales had grown in the three years since she lost Madison to a viral infection, every third Saturday a study in consumer mania, collecting things like olive green vases and chipped nightstands that will eventually be shoved behind the orange door of a storage unit.
At the book table--always the first items to be set aside for a yard sale--she saw a worn My Little Pony coloring book, all but one page untouched by the waxy nibs of jewel toned Crayolas.
There was one pony carefully shaded a cake frosting pink, perhaps by a girl who for a short while loved these silly cartoon animals.
Beneath the picture Deena read the words, farey dusts gate is magnificint, and she clutched the book to her chest, looking around for the idiots in charge.