my eyes scanned the cold, damp building.

the blue eyes stopped.

looked.

and continue scanning.

her eyes shot back.

back to the drab gold.

back to the tear-dropped shaped

imitation crystals.

and fake crystal plates.

then she walked towards it.

inching her way and hoping to reach it...

before another.

her black cowboy boots clicking.

and the smell of cheap onion rings in the air....

she asked the vendor... the vendor who

looked like he just tumbled in from a night at

a punky redneck bar.

he had a cigarette placed, strategically behind his right ear.

ready was he, to slip out for a smoke.

until i approached, that is.

five he said.

five bucks.

my hand.

it reached out and grabbed the base of it.

staking claim

and letting the whole world know

or just

in reality...

the lady who was thumbing through some

musty old

vintage books nearby.

this was mine.

all mine.

whipping out a ten.

no.

five singles.

i claimed ownership.

the sweet baby was mine.

made in italy.

probably had grapes dangling from

the scales at one time.

it's from the 1950's.

no, i mean the 1960's.

exhale.

and shudder.