So you have a garage sale because you have a garage sale and you sell books for a dollar and the cheap stools you never liked for five bucks each and a German Bible from 1770 for $35 and your dead brother's GI Joe locker full up with stuff for $65.
You like the guy who started the giant 1987 Echo leaf blower in the middle of crowd and, amid a stinking cloud of gas and smoke, verifies that said blower blows, turns it off, throws a ten and a five at you (the marked price) and lugs it away.
But by far, your favorite customer is a 127-year-old man who hobbles up with his spritely 95-year-old wife (who is donning a modest homemade cotton dress and a white bonnet). They bumble around your junk and eventually pluck up a box of (of course) 12 unused mason jars, which is marked two dollars.
"Will you take a dollar for this?"
"Um, yeah," you say. "I'll take a dollar for that."
Then the wife offers you small talk and a pamphlet from a Christian radio station that she listens to all day. She smiles.
They walk away with their box of mason jars. You put the dollar in the cash box, tear the pamphlet in two and toss it in the trash.
You turn your face toward the sun.
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