One day, as my wife and I were driving in the vicinity of North Avenue, I spied a coffin propped on end against a weary old brick building. A hand-painted sign advertised: "$400, or best offer."
Rather excitedly, I pointed it out to the Mrs., who knew full well that such a find should not go undocumented in the pages of Smile, Hon, You’re in Baltimore!.
"I know, I know," she laughed, "you wish you'd brought your camera."
"Fuck that," I grumbled. "I wish I had $400."