We were three, in a car, a sunny hangover. A
dog. A bag of dill pickle chips. Travelling to the most confidential location
in town: an obscure flea market somewhere between the Old Port and the 40.
Everything was set for something great. The dog was contributing to our
enthusiasm, dill pickle chips were feeding our delusions of grandeur.
The idea: an online database for all the yard
sales on the island of Montreal. A magical intersection, a crossway for all the
underground passageways connecting thousands of Ali Baba's cave.
A paradise of the second hand where dreams take
the shapes of a torchiere, a pedestal ashtray,
or a scratched LP! In other words, the best place on Earth!
The gates of our heaven are open, St-Pierre
sells lemonade for a loonie, the angels are knitting Fan-Tex slippers and it's
raining pickles.
