Tomorrow is Sunday, y los Domingo’s son pa Domingiar. Growing up we would be awake before that closest star poked its little head over the horizon, packing the truck w our A frames and plywood for makeshift tables to hold our goods we would then sell at the swap meet. It’s probably my earliest memory of exchanging time and energy for monetary compensation, what a fun rat race it’s been, but all that’s for another day. Later in life we stopped selling and became customers, like clock work every Sunday, pack down whatever family car, head to the swapmeet @ the pico rivera drive-in. We had like a home swapmeet yo, idk about you, but we did. The same way we had a home church or whatever the words may be. Church in South Gate swapmeet in Pico Rivera, and North Long Beach was home home. We would go to others and it would always feel weird, I wasn’t familiar w the map, like I ain’t know where man’s that sold the trading cards was posted at. Where was I gonna score my bag of duros, and more importantly paramount swapmeet didn’t have a vendor who sold car audio systems but also sold cold brewskis to my pops. We often traveled to the indoors too, Gardendale, Pico, Norwalk and would always come back. Eventually the swapmeet stopped happening idk why bc I was baby and idc to google, but it moved or it respawned, to the Pico sports arena. Then that was home and I don’t know when it happened but it did, my pops started calling it la terapia. Like clockwork to get the bad juju of the week prior out and start the week off right, like a therapy session. Go walk, people watch, smash on a bomb breakfast and idk maybe you fuck around and barter yourself some shit. Real talk tho swapmeets were the real treasure trove for film, used to cop double packs of 600, 5 American dollars dawg. COMO SE DICE U WASNT THERE or whatever. there’s no point or anything, at least I don’t think there is rn, lemme get smacked and I’ll let you know if my thoughts have changed, anyway all this triggered by this fucking meme. Hahahahahaha. K TTYL TCCIC KIT
