It’s Sunday in suburbia. Lawns are lined like semi-precious gems in a bracelet along a blacktop road. On each lawn there is a table, upon each table are things once treasured that can no longer be owned. Each item is marked accordingly, to be sold to the first buyer who meets the price. The people in the house with the basketball hoop and the three boys are selling baby smiles, 12 for a dollar. Next door, a woman is offering her mother’s comfort, tarnished and broken beyond repair. Down the street, an elderly couple sells memories of combing their daughter’s hair, fresh from the bath, three for a dollar, slightly worn, still smelling of love.
Our Story Begins