Saturday morning in beautiful Marietta Ohio, sippin dark roast and nibbling on a cinnamon roll. It’s quiet on the front porch of my victorian home. The brick street is still shiny with dew, across the street a family sets out their wares for, yet another, yardsale. Along they come, on the prowl and attack, Grams and Pa, rattling pickups, the “Yard Sale Locusts”.