A little farther down Passyunk the other day I came to a flea market.

Most of the wares didn’t interest me, so I kept my pace as I walked past them.

But then I noticed a very intricate urn and stopped to admire it.

The woman, who was roughly my age, or so I judged, who was managing the table, noticed my interest.

“It’s very beautiful,” I said.

“Yes,” she agreed, “but it’s not Chinese. It’s Italian.” 

“But I really don’t have any use for it.”

“That’s what everybody says.”

“What would you put in it?”

“Nothing!” she quickly replied. “You just set it on a mantle or in the middle of a table. Notice the detailed workmanship.”

“Yes, it’s quite lovely, but I really don’t have any place to put it.”

“Last year I had a cornucopia that everyone admired but no one felt they could use. Eventually though it found a home. I’m sure the same thing will happen with this.” 

“I’m sure you’re right.” 

“The people around here know quality when they see it. Not like the people over there.” She gestured toward the Pennsport neighborhood. “They have no taste.” 

I laughed.

“It’s true,” she said. “I went to see some of their sales and all they have is junk. They have no taste.” 

“Well, I wish you the best of luck. I’m sure you’ll find someone to give this a good home. Have a good day.” 

“Thank you. Enjoy your day.”