“Those are between fifty cents and a dollar,” the old woman said before shuffling away to deal with another of the customers at her yard sale.
“So, what do we do, just go rubbing each one?” Raccoon asked.
Owl looked at the rows of dusty lamps, looked at his friend, looked at the people buying old knickknacks, novelty mugs and hand knit sweaters, and walked away from the table.
“Hey, what’s up?” Raccoon asked, pulling at Owl’s arm.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It kinda feels like we’re just doing the same thing over and over and over, doesn’t it?”