WEEK TWENTY-FOUR: THE FLEA MARKET
I stopped in front of a nondescript booth, my attention drawn by an old clarinet resting in its frayed case. A long-put-aside memory from grade school flickered bravely in my head. “Do you play?” I turned toward a grey-haired woman with a pleasant smile, aging but (as I remind myself often these days) probably no older than I. “No, not really. Just in the 4th grade”. We traded grade school clarinet memories, hers much better-formed than mine. Feeling comfortable now, I a