I had to work, but I still had absolutely no business wandering through the late 20th and early 21st century, but a flea market presents you with few other options. There you are, shaking your hands to get rid of vintage goods and vinyl albums that leap toward you like bad special effects noises, jumpcutting into the fancy leather satchel that whispers how much it could hold if you just bought it too, with its enabling-ass cow-clad craftiness.

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