I could smell the rotting chicken carcass. I have no idea what is wrong with these women's noses. They even argued over who would take the bag, and not in a "God I don't want it but someone has to take it" type of way. But Mrs. Beasley-Beasley herself took it by paying a whole $5 for it.

I laughed all the way home. Frank could not understand why, and every time he asked, he set me off again. Thank goodness he drove.

I really had not meant to do it. I was content to just think about it. Contemplate their faces, wait for their noses to kick in. But they had been cruel to me, even though they meant well. I did not sort things- I was promoted to table duty. They gave me a department to argue over and price. I asked if I could do the music and books, but that's Mrs. Anderson's post. She does that because she is the librarian. I really should not resent that- she's very good and usually kind.

I was posted where the late Mrs. Harman was always posted. She was a grandmother and took most of the leftovers home for her grandchildren. I wanted to sort things instead. But I had been at the Rummage sale before. So I had the table. I hated touching the things. Each tiny shoe, or pants, or bit of lace. I had to wash my hands often so I could bear it.

Worse, on the books table, there was a biography of Tony on display.

He winked at me as I walked by.

I did not buy it.
  ¶ 10:21 AM