In the photograph, if you looked closely enough, you could see a reflection of windows and, off to the side, his own convex image sporting an enlarged nose and holding a camera. But no one would look that close. The silver of the rim, which provided those reflections, and the crystal coaster beneath were the draws. He wasn’t.

The photos were for an online marketplace. He’d had some luck moving along unwanted items recently. A mandolin. Some nice Black Walnut for woodturners. A mountain bike.

In less than a day she messaged him, the only one of a dozen or so lookers who did.

Living rurally meant that to reach a larger audience he fudged a little on his advertised location, said he was from town, and figured a little driving would be required to complete a sale. He was going to town anyway, so he justified the trip when she said she’d like to buy the coasters.

He’d never seen them used. They were still in the boxes they’d been sold in, perhaps as a wedding gift for his parents, both now gone. The green boxes were stained and worn, and one top was missing, but the coasters themselves had shined up nicely when he polished them the day before over the kitchen sink. His own glasses were old jelly jars or mugs from a potter he’d known for years. Silver coasters had no place in his haphazard aesthetic, where the ring left on a wooden table becomes part of the table’s story.

The trip to town included a visit to the dump. His old cargo van was full of other less valuable artifacts from his life that had recently been pulled out of the barn where they’d sat for 30 years. The console stereo that he used to blast Creedence Clearwater Revival on to dance in front of his parents’ guests. A broken window frame. His old toy chest. All filthy and chewed upon by various critters over the decades. All destined for a dumpster.

The only other thing in the van other than the silver coasters was his string trimmer, which needed a part in order to run. He’d cleaned it of grass clippings, but it, too, was dirty.

Mindful that she was getting a good deal on the coasters, he decided to ask if she’d meet him where he was already going – the farm and garden shop that sold and repaired mowers and trimmers. She agreed. Better there than the dump. These kinds of sales often transpire at gas stations or Target parking lots, so this wouldn’t be too different.

As he pulled into the parking lot, he spotted her white Toyota 4Runner, the nice one with the black wheels, backed into a spot. The other pickups, full of trimmers, gas cans, and rakes, were all pointed in nose first so owners could get broken machinery out of the beds.

He pulled into the spot next to her, reached over into the passenger’s seat for the coasters, and stepped out his own door. She had done the same, and because she was backed in she was right there in front of him.

She looked like someone who would be shopping for silver coasters in the late morning and then buy some by noon. Hair done, makeup, a nice outfit with open toed shoes – the only ones in the parking lot. “This is a colorful encounter for you,” he said. She smiled.

“This is for you,” she said, and handed him a folded twenty.

He took it. Folded, it looked small. He handed her the boxes. “These are older than I am. I don’t think they’ve been used,” he told her.

“I collect stuff like this. These are just what I was looking for.”

“They’re for you?” he said. “Good.”

And that was it. She turned to her Toyota, placed the coasters on the passenger seat, checked her phone, and drove away.

He went around to the side door of the van to retrieve the trimmer, realizing that it was now the nicest thing in the van. He tucked the twenty in among the others in his wallet.

Lunch was $9.14.

The dump was $11.86.