Brooklyn Flea

It's like I'm walking in the African grasslands and I spot a herd of beautiful zebra grazing nearby. And then my reverie is over and I realize it's just two hot chicks wearing the same dress at the Flea. As I was about to snap a shot of my prey, one turns around, armed with a taco, as if to say, "I know, right??!" It was the verbiage that got me. That and the dress. OK, and the taco. Meet Alexandra.

So, what do you do?

I'm an environmental attorney. God that sounds lame.

What do you wish you could say?

Actually? I don't think I could really be doing anything cooler.

If you were a vendor at the Flea, what would you sell?

Organic Big Macs. Or compost heaps. One of the two.

What did you do this morning?

I woke up at 8 to go to work.

What are you doing later?

I'd really like to crash the MJ party someone was just talking about but I'm going to Floyd for beer and bocce.

What is your fondest memory of Michael Jackson?

What is that MJ record that when you unfolded the three panels, he was there laying down with like, a puma or a tiger, or something? When I was little, I would open it up in my bedroom and lie next to it and pretend he was my boyfriend. Sometimes we would make out a little bit. [Um, that was "Thriller!" --ed.]

Finish this sentence. Brooklyn is...

Brooklyn is better than yours.

Damn Alexandra. But thanks!