more signs

Three things for a dollar. Six things for a dollar. Free (not this chair).

Or so that's what the signs say.

A person who lives on some property that I frequently pass when I drive around town - and I say person because I'm not sure if it's a girl or boy (at least the gender can't be determined with even a hard stare on the drive by) - has a practically perpetual garage sale going on there. Mostly on the weekends, hundreds of boxes filled with stuff litter the front lawn. Recently, the sale has been raised to table height, tarped, and re-located to the backyard by the barn. At the end of the sale, there is always a pile of misceleneous items (lamps, desks, furniture, knick-knackish stuff) that lies prostrate at the foot of an old high chair. On the high chair sits a sign that reads, "Free (not this chair)." Sometimes only the sign and chair are there for days on end.

With shoulder-lengthed, stringy hair and daily wearing the same dingy shirt and dungarees that were once white and now are tinged with red earth stains, I was surprised one day when Poetroad and I drove by to see the person wearing what appeared to be a black prairie skirt.

"It's a girl," I said convinced. "She's wearing a skirt!"

"That's a kilt!" Poetroad retorted.

"A kilt?"

Lot's of signs, more questions, and no answers.