Brimfield ended in a torrential downpour. I stood on the side of the two lane highway, my muddy boots soaked through to the toes. A procession of filthy cars sagging with the weight of purchases rolled by like a funeral march. I waited, umbrella in hand, half protecting my face and half protecting a large black trunk standing upright in the gravel.
The large black box comes up to my shoulders, has three rusted latches and is peeling away at the sides. Its weight is tremendous and we can barely heave it into the back seat of my accomplice's car. We barely manage to fit it across the back seat and we rejoin the procession, rolling single file through the mud all the way back to New York City. Success.
What, you must be asking is in the box? The new dressing room for my shop of course! How does it fit in a box? Pure magic.