There is a place near the notorious MacArthur park in Los Angeles. What may seem to be a common flea market is actually a situation of the hidden beauty and intensity. Here all the poor and honest folks, who may also spend their nights across the road in the park, come to sell what they managed to find. From an old doll's head to some rusty screwdriver – being someone’s waist, now these items signify somebody else’s intention to survive. Legless pastor who sells perfumes, homeless punk-girl or aging transgender – there is no average character here, only the glowing ones with their lives engraved on their beautiful faces. Every time I come here I can’t stop feeling this place as some sort of vibrant mythological world. Right in front of my eyes sun is swallowing the space, turning everything into gold. There is no streets or city anymore around, there is only the river Styx, and merchants sell to the dead all the things they might need in their afterlife. What should I choose to buy?..