I have no excuse. I certainly knew what could—and did—happen. I am a veteran of so many tag sales my children joked that our car spotted the signs before I did. I've wandered through scores of antique stores and barns.
And I had sworn off the roadside sales and begun clearing my house of the things for which I could no longer explain the attraction. And yet, as my daughter and I wandered down Market Street, we each decided there was something in Market Street Antiques that we needed. She got a set of custard cups; to either my glory or regret, all I got was this gallery of photos, mementos of a (possibly) former addiction.
And that's how to lose an hour on Market Street in Corning, New York.
How many of these do you remember? How many did you always want?