I don't collect Klan stuff
Pigs-In-A-Blanket, broccoli, mac&chz, water.
An early morning dream.
I'm with JJ, I think, and we follow this guy who looks like Alan Arkin into the courtyard of his antiques store. The whole place is piled with rugs and textiles, and there's a young hippie chick across the courtyard, wearing green and doing something dextrous with her hands, like playing an instrument or something.
He notices us behind him, but he doesn't realize that we follow him on into the shop proper, and when he turns around he is startled. I joke and apologize, tell him that I didn't mean to stalk him. The interior of the shop is very tiny, a long narrow room, but brightly lit from windows along the courtyard. It, too, is piled with rugs. I kind of realize that this guy might not have the kinds of things we usually look for.
I explain to him that I'm looking for photography, but I fail to mention anything more specific. He takes me into a side room, which is really a little nook, smaller than a changing room. He produces some pictures that are panoramic in proportion, but small, like long postcards. They are images of men at KKK meetings. They are interesting pictures, and in a way they fall into my fraternal collection area, but I'm just not into Klan stuff. The prices, I glance at them on the versos, are pretty high, too, in the $50-$60 range, pretty out of the question if it's not even stuff that particularly interests me.
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