I still remember the first time I pulled into the I-80 Flea Market in Illinois before sunrise and thought, okay… this might be serious. Trucks were already backed into rows.
People were walking fast, not running, but definitely not strolling either. Coffee in one hand, empty tote in the other.
Game faces on. By the time the gates opened at 7, the place had that electric, low-buzz energy that only happens when everyone thinks they might get lucky…