Micro Monday: "Peddler"
She looked down with disdain, not even bending to examine the wares spread across the striped blankets, glittering in the brilliant Sonoran sun.
"I like this one."
"Careful," she said. "Could be plastic. Or gum -- my neighbor bought a ring here that ended up being a painted hunk of Doublemint."
"Please, Aunt Jean, he can probably understand you."
She said nothing, in a rare moment of reserve.
"I wonder how much."
"Twenty," the huddled, sombreroed figure muttered, confirming my suspicion.
"Haggle him down to ten," she warned, unable to resist.
I’d listen. It was a long drive back to Scottsdale.