witches’ wire

A year ago preperations for the big move were in full gear. The prospect of shifting all personal belongings across a continent inevitably leads to a full inventory of all material riches gathered over the years. This then inevitably leads to puzzled disbelief of the sheer amount of rubbish (and occasional treasure) one has allowed to accumulate. 

Many days of feeding bins and nurturing nostalgia later there were still enough bits and pieces left to open a second hand pop up store. Instead, I joined a car boot sale, beautifully set in a supermarket car park just minutes from where we lived. The rent for two parking spaces was 20 Euros and my main concern was whether I would sell enough to  get the fee back in.

To cut it short, any worries turned to bliss less than an hour into the venture. By noon the makeshift stall was half empty and the coins in the cardboard box exceeded the the attendance fee by far. Not because the goods I put on sale were much different or any cheaper than what the other 30 to 40 vendors had on offer. And definitely not because of any skills I have to talk people into buying things I no longer want.

The secret, I am quite convinced, of my successful sale was this: I had set up the goods (the bads and the uglies too) in a U shape on the double parking lot. Without thinking much about it, I had placed once certain box on the outer corner of said U. In it, tangled up in a wild hotchpotch of plastic and wire, were around 50 odd cables for all sorts of devices and machines. I did not think much of it, when the first few passer-bys stopped to examine the contents of the box, inspecting cable lenghts and plugs, piece by piece. Soon a queue grew from that box, the mysterious attraction thus continued to gain gravity, pulling shoppers towards it like mad.

Spectacles were fetched from shirt pockets, thoughts were pondered behind wrinkled foreheads and occasionally a purchase seemed to be considered. To pass time, people waiting to get a turn at rummaging the box asked the price of this and that and before long I had sold far more than I had ever thought I would. Whatever the reason may be (some come to mind, from practical to philosophical), should I engage in another car boot sale I will make sure that a box of jumbled cables is placed strategically and watch its magic unfold once again.

I could even use the very same salad of plastic coated strings again: for all the business they attracted, I did not sell a single one of them. In conclusion it is apparent that strong magic does radiate from cables, tangled, mixed and set to compel exalted dedication.

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