I live in Orlando, so occasionally, I’m going to write something a little specific. Today is one of those days.
Everyone knows Walt Disney World, but way on the other side of Central Florida, about an hour’s drive north of WDW, was a place with a whole different kind of magic – Flea World. America’s “largest flea market under one roof,” Flea World was only open on weekends – a great place to wander, look at all the weird stuff for sale, and look at all the weird people buying it.
Sunday was my day. I’d drive to Sanford, get a giant draft beer around 10am, and start walking. Live birds and fresh pickles, car stereos and haircuts, bootleg “Scarface” t-shirts and trail mix by the pound. It was all laid out in rows and rows and rows and rows of open-air stalls. My big thing was to go through all the used CDs. I’d usually leave with two or three – plus some weird Chinese knock-off action figure and a pack of Tiger Blood incense.
There might be a trained dog act or a juggler and you could definitely get a decent burger or corn dog.