A lad at the yard sale

Margaret stood on the lawn, people watching. Some she knew. Some she didn’t. She’d been watching one lad for a while now. He’d taken a particular interest in her extensive assortment of lamps.

He had walked alongside the table two or three times, stroking his chin thoughtfully and stopping every now and then to choose a lamp and polish it.

At the third lamp, Margaret could no longer hold her tongue. She marched over, placed a hand on his shoulder and told him that every item in the house clearance had been cleaned and scrubbed.

“Hi” he said, “I’m Al.”

lvbydawne_2

Submitted for Friday Fictioneers photo prompt. See if you can write a piece of flash fiction in 100 words.

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