We met Dave there. He had been there for hours. He needed the money. Dave had lost his job and was about to lose his apartment. He claimed that most people got to the swaps early to get the good deals and he was there waiting when it opened. He tried to tell me that the people who were there to sell stuff lined up at 5:00 or 6:00 to get a good space. I didn't want to believe him; I still don't. How could it be that important and to whom? But I like to think of mile-long lines of cars, full of people and their junk waiting, in the middle of nowhere, with their headlights still on as the sun comes up, until finally, at 7:00, they open the gates and let the people in to, of all things, the swapmeet. I can think of a lot of things I'd rather wait for.

      I would have been relieved if Jenny hadn't shown up. I've never much liked the swaps, but then again, I've never been just to shop, only to sell. And I've never been there without a hangover. I think I tend to concentrate on the pathetic side of the thing. It seems to me there are the professional hawkers, trying to make a quick buck. And there's the other side, the serious face of the crowd, the soulless vultures trying to find a bargain - a good deal from the remains of someone else's life Moving quickly, rummaging and always trying to talk you down, get you to lower the price - for them, so they can win; their egos reign triumphant. And then, I can't help thinking, how much of this stuff is stolen? How many of these stereos, these bicycles went the way of my brother's, when he woke up and said, "I know you're here." And the burglar realized my brother was home and answered, "Yeah, and I've got a gun." And then rode off on my brother's blue bike.

      I spent most of that overcast day in my chair, reading and rereading the same page of my book, drinking juice, watching people paw through my things and answering an occasional question. I had no food, little money to buy any and no desire to look for it or even move, nothing but hunger and a headache. Dave drank beer. Jenny drank the wine and they both kept asking if I wanted to take a break, go for a walk. "You'll miss all the best stuff," Jenny kept saying.

      "Why don't you go instead," I'd tell her, "I've got to try and finish this page."

     When I finally did go for a walk, the insulators were still there, three or four of them, both of clear and blue glass, Hemingrays, not merely 42's but something a little more exotic, just sitting on a cardtable a few spaces down, waiting for me. They were only $2.00 or $3.00 each, so I bought two of them for my mom's next birthday.

      As I got back to our space Dave said he had sold some of my stuff and handed me two fives. I stuffed them in my pocket and sat back down. When Jenny got back she said, "You've got to come see this navy coat, one of those long ones like you said you wanted and meet this old man, Eddy, I met last week. He's wonderful." He had racks and racks of clothes like an outdoor thrift shop and Jenny said he was there every weekend. Eddy was probably in his 60's with greying hair and mustache; he was not particularly tall or fat, dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans like a typical dad on the weekend. Jenny introduced us and I asked him how much for the peacoat.

      He said, "$50.00," and I said, "Oh."

      "How much would you pay for it?" he asked.

      "I only have $10.00." He scoffed, insulted and turned to Jenny.

      "Have you thought about what I said? What are you going to do with your life?"

      "Well yeah some. I don't know. I don't know what to do."

      "What are you doing now? Living with a man, letting him support you?" Do you have a job yet?"

      "No."

      "That's no good. What if he decides he doesn't want you anymore, what are you going to do then? Find another man to move in with? You'll spend your whole life jumping from one man's bed to another. Do you love him?"

      "Yes, I love him to pieces."

      "But you're not happy, are you?"

      "No, not really. But what am I going to do?"

      "Move out, then decide. For your own good, you gotta learn how to take care of yourself. If he really loves you, you can make him understand."

      "But where can I go?"

      "Anywhere, the mission up there on the hill," and he pointed to the northwest and the orange hills of the sunset. "They will feed anybody who needs a meal, and give you a bed to sleep in if you need it. It's not hard. Get a job. Go to school. What do you do?" and with not a lot of hope he looked at me in my t-shirt with the neck and sleeves cut out and my blue khaki pants.

      "I go to school."

      "What are you studying?"

      "Communications."

      With a look he dismissed me and turned back to Jenny. "My daughter's in college up at USC. She wants to be a doctor. You remind me of her, Jenny. It's not easy, but she works real hard at it. School isn't easy. Nothin's easy. Anything you do is a lot of hard work and patience, and it doesn't always pay off. I should know, I owned my own company for 20 years and it wasn't easy but it was worth it."

      "I know, you're right."

      "I'm not trying to make you feel guilty, I just want you to think about it. Think about your future, not his but your own. It's never too late to change your life," and he patted her on the arm.

      "Thank you. You're right. I know you're right."

      "Well, Jenny, I gotta start getting ready to go before it really gets dark. Just keep thinking about it for me, OK?" and he patted her again.

      She forced a smile and said, "OK Eddy, and thanks again."

      "No problem. Maybe I'll see you next weekend. I'm here every Saturday and Sunday, so if you come back or need someone to talk to, you know where to find me."

      We went back to our space, which was pretty easy to find by then because most everybody else had gone, leaving only their garbage behind. Dave had the radio cranked to help him pack. The only person not packing was an old Mexican woman in a flowered house dress with a red apron, white socks and sneakers, loaded down with bags of cans and pulling a suitcase carrier piled high with even more stuff. She moved from site to site picking through what other people had left, adding an occasional can to her collection. When she was about two rows away a new song came on the radio, George Thorogood or Van Halen - a real rocker - and it seemed to catch her ear. She paused for a second, dropped her bags, threw her arms up in the air and started dancing. We were mesmerized. As her eyes met mine she yelled, "EJERCICIO!" Dave hooted, "Yeah", and we all laughed. She danced til the song ended then, picked up her bags and moved on.

      By then we were all packed and Dave said, "Hey, there's a little bar right across the street I discovered last weekend. Let's stop in and have a drink on the way home. By the way, what do you want to do with this?" He pointed to my chair; it hadn't sold. "Needs some work but its pretty comfortable, ya know. I sat in it for a while."