The Dao of Doctor D

Ted strolls across the grass, sweat glazing his forehead, the sound of staticky 1980s-channel radios echoing in the near distance. Beneath the flea market tarpaulin, he passes many items that are junk to him, until he spots one of interest. He recognizes the style of the old dresser. The finish shows bare wood in many spots and a crack runs along the grain of a side panel, but Ted’s familiar with how to fix those issues. He opens the drawer and sees the maker’s stamp he expected. A citrus-like wood smell reminds him of long days as a boy watching his father make grandfather clocks in his shop. If this dresser is what he believes it is, the price on the card is about 20% low for its condition. He asks the gray-haired, bespectacled woman at the stand for her best price. She comes down 20% from the card—“can’t go any lower”—but mentions that her and her husband are packing up soon to leave. They have dinner with friends that evening. Ted steps back to assess the dresser in full form and rubs his chin. “Should I buy it?”