"Visually astounding. A working model for post-apocalyptic capitalism."

So says a reviewer of my absolute favorite childhood haunt, to which I took my wife and kids today — Super Flea & Farmers Mkt. I can't beat the reviewer's description:

Small spaces in a gigantic former warehouse are rented to vendors selling a remarkably useless variety of stuff, most of it well past the point of being utter junk. Vendors mark off their bleak grey spaces using chain-link fencing, old doors, novelty blankets and emergency blue plastic tarp, hoarding broken happy meal toys, hubcaps, chipped glassware, live rabbits in overcrowded cages, dust covered dream catchers, juice drink-stained used NES games, thoroughly wanked-over Playboys and photographs of celebrities long forgotten. A must see if you're into simulated trauma.

I admit it was hard not to steal away from the wife and kids and sneak a peak at the "thoroughly wanked-over Playboys," as a fan of all things vintage, of course. One thing new was the many "glass 'tobacco' stalls" mentioned by another reviewer; I don't remember them, and, yes, I would have been looking after age 13. We drove more than an hour each way to come back with two 25¢ bouncy balls, two packs of Pokémon cards, and two airbrushed wood cutouts of my kids' names.