When I was 15 I babysat every Saturday, earning considerably less than minimum wage. Then I’d work at a flea market every Sunday for my mother, selling kitsch for a slightly higher (though still less than minimum) wage.

The demand for her Tchotchkes was low, and my 9+ hour days at the market were spent sitting alone with a notebook.

Fortunately a pen and blank paper could still keep me amused.

The following posts are stories, games, and doodlings from my flea market ledger.