Let’s go further, into the hall. In front of the entrance there are wide tables with computer games. But once we take a closer look, it turns out there are no games here. Only sealed boxes and a wind-blown sheet of paper covered in marker doodles that announce the latest offers. It is only when we ask the boy who lurks near the table, he’ll look us up and down, disappear and deliver a CD into our hands. Neither of us will raise an arm. It’s a strictly pocket-to-pocket deal.
The roof of the hall looks like the hull of a dead spaceship. It looms over the real flea market itself. The sheer weight of the space crushes the people below. We wander around this human hive a while, check if the wallet is still in its place and turn around. The market is for the poor and the rich alike. The poor man will spend a twenty on some CD, and the rich one will leave with a phone he got at half price or a new radio, and if he knows where to look, he’ll grab a crate of vodka and a real biscuit with a full magazine.
English translation: Michał Strojek