flea market

I enjoy weekends, where I can amble aimlessly around Amcorp Mall, observing the knick-knacks being peddled at the flea market. Used toys, second-hand books, collectibles such as stamps, coins, past first day covers, old records that still run, old Malay cassettes, old clothing, quaint ornaments, shoes, imported slippers, food, handicrafts.. the list goes on.

I love the small crowd that gathers around each stall: the occasional small kid worming through, the old sentimental man peering over the goods with his glasses, the jovial expatriate who loves a good bargain, young ladies chattering excitedly over a pair of unique earrings... Without any of them, the atmosphere wouldn't have come alive on a lazy Sunday morning.

Still, it was but a breather from all my mundane burdens. With a heavy heart, I trudged back to the cold and lifeless cubicle... all for the next round of mindless reading, researching and typing. To tell you the truth, I abhorr them. My Sunday is not sunny anymore. To enforce the literary part of this point, it is actually pouring outside. He Who Rules The Universe certainly has a penchant for jokes, I suppose.