A woman down the street had an estate sale. I met Sandra as soon as I walked in the gate, cheerful and chatty, standing next to a table of books she had authored on the history of our neighborhood. I slogged up the driveway packed with tables and boxes and glanced at what she was selling. There was a bit of everything, jewelry and a crockpot, art and a lawnmower. I made my way into the house, and all the furniture was for sale, carpets and a wig, her collection of books. Photos were laid out on a table; a trash can was stuffed full of them, family photos, and what looked like office photos, personals things people usually keep. It looked like someone died. I trudged back outside and ran into Sandra.
“It looks like you’re selling everything?” I said.
“Yeah, it’s all gotta go.”
“Are you are alright, are you moving to Europe or something?” She looked me right in the eye and with a wry smile, lowered her voice and said, “I wanna be free baby, I just wanna be free.”