The best thing I got on our recent trip to NYC was a belt purchased at the Brooklyn Flea.
I saw it sitting on a table and grabbed it in one of those “this is totally mine” moments. Â The buckle and the decorative front piece are made of brass and the belt part is worn brown leather. Someone wore the hell out of this belt already.
Actually, I know who had this belt, at least for awhile. On the inside, in marker, it says “C. Ramirez.”
I could have stayed at the Brooklyn Flea for an entire day, looking at all the clothes (I also got a skirt). The prices were “meh” – you’re not going to find great deals here – but duh.
What I didn’t enjoy so much were the overflowing Port-O-Pots. An old man opened the door to one, looked inside and walked away shaking his head. I really had to pee so I went in holding my breath and keeping my eyes level with the door.
Still, my cool belt is worth a minute of crouching over a pile of shit.
My belt raised security concerns on the way home. It was in my suitcase but the pointed and crossed brass horns raised the alert and my suitcase had to be searched, the belt extracted and run through the x-ray on it’s own, to make sure the horns weren’t really poison daggers or knives or tiny guns.
Which needs to be in a Bond movie.