“Have you heard that ad they play on ‘XRT? Some guy bought, like, this $10,000 jeep for 10 bucks? You hear that?”
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Once you got past the mounds of boxes and the people who checked your ID, you could see hundreds of handmade rugs: silk carpets, cashmere carpets, wool carpets–some with intricate golden medallions embroidered onto them, some as small as a piece of floor tile, some big enough to wrap an entire family. The auctioneer, a gentleman in jewels and a charcoal gray suit, paced through a cloud of unfiltered cigarette smoke as the crowd gathered and looked over the booty.
No one seemed to know how all the carpets got from Afghanistan and Turkey to Bensenville. “This is stuff seized from drug dealers,” several muttered.
“Couple times.”
Someone held up one finger and said, “A hundred.”
A burnt orange carpet with red medallions on it was held up. “This is a genuine Afghan carpet. It measures two and a half by three and a half. These used to be made by 13 tribes. Now, only 3 or 4 still do.”
“Stop it!”
