When I was 18

A 25-second read.

When I was 18 my boyfriend’s dad gave me a job selling vintage furniture from his stall at the Barras market. Unfortunately, he rarely gave me the prices so I spent most of the time pulling uneducated guesses out of thin air. The rest of the time I spent drinking tea or rooting around the other stalls for old vases to add to my collection. Often I spent more than I earned.

Which wasn’t hard!

Sometimes I bought more than I sold.

Also not hard!

The stall was in a warehouse known as Quinn’s―dimly lit, foosty smelling, and bone cold. I lasted a month.

Sunday’s at Quinn’s