She moved well for someone in their seventies.
And she had good reason to – a vintage cobalt blue oil lamp purchased for only four dollars. A legendary score.
“Excuse me!” came an urgent voice.
Someone had figured out the pricing mix-up. She picked up the pace, squeezing her prize while darting through the bustling flea market crowd. No way was she giving up that easily.
“Ma’am, please!” they tried again.
She had excuses already planned if she got caught. She’s old, confused. Doesn’t hear very well.
But that meant they’d have to catch her.
And she didn’t like their chances.
The Weekday One Hundred 