The flea market in Odessa is like a good yeast dough. A short time after a good kneading, it grows, sprawls, leaves the banks and fills the streets and courtyards, climbs the walls with spreading garlands of second-hand clothes. It spreads tat and shlock on the sidewalks, is filled to the brim with “dead” items, which uncontrollably cling to the chance for a new life. It seems as though life does not notice them until it comes across a cute brooch in a cardboard box, or a leather briefcase with a worn handle, or an old accordion with yellowed keys. And then, the buyer and the seller have a choice: either meet at the price and farewell with a feeling of satisfaction, or uncompromisingly look for the best deal under the scorching rays of the ruthless Odessa sun.