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I had started to write this story months ago but couldn't find a way to tell it well enough, until I started writing about it to a reader through email. Thanks for the help; you know who you are!

I love Sidewalk Sales days in our small city. The local merchants and the city combine to put on a summer event that rivals some of the autumn fairs in the area. Steak bomb, cotton candy and fried dough stands abound, their tantalizing scents mixing and filling Main Street, causing the stomachs of nearly all who detect it to rumble with instant hunger. Jugglers, stilt walkers and unicyclists weave through the crowd, stopping now and again to perform for small groups of onlookers. At one end of the street is a block of rides and carny amusements for the children, their squeals drowning out the sound of the machinery. The novelty of being able to walk down the middle of the road, normally hectic with cars and trucks, without holding a parent's hand for safety has them frenzied, and I can't help but think that this day is a memory that many of them will carry to adulthood. At the street's largest intersection an outdoor stage has been assembled, occupied nightly with country singers struggling to turn their part-time gigs into a career, or at least a bankroll, and by pop artists on the other side of their success, performing the best number 35 hits of ten years ago. It all has the backdrop of 200 year old brick storefronts and café's.

Best of all, there's shopping! Every morning the merchants of Main Street drag racks and tables into the road, filled with both their ...

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