“Hey, honey, look at these!”
Gary turned away from the display of vintage postcards he’d been admiring and sought out his wife. A flash of red hair led him in the right direction, and he found her two stalls over. She was holding up what looked like a shallow cloth bag, perhaps three inches across and no more than that deep.
“It’s a bag, Leona. So?”
Leona put her hand into it, and pulled out her purse. It was the sort of purse that you could store phone-books in, and Gary was convinced that it was lead-lined due to the weight. The neck of the bag stretched a little as the purse emerged from it, then snapped back to its original size.
“They’re selling bags of holding? Real ones? How much?”
The cheerful woman behind the table named a price that made Gary hesitate, it was their entire flea-market budget for the whole day. Leona saw that look, and got an impish one of her own.