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If you're a comber, someone who flips through stacks of records or magazines or clothes in the corner of some stranger's garage nearly every weekend, you know the sadness of 5:17 p.m. on a Sunday.
That's when the sale-holder starts to fold up the card tables and haul the boxes back in. That's when the looking stops. Weekend is over. Deals kaput.
Vinyl for as low as a quarter. Books for as low as a buck. Garth Trinidad DJing in the early afternoon. It's that happy weekend looking feeling at the beginning of the week. No dark garage corner or frantic flipping or Sunday night blues required.