This rather grim tableau — made even grimmer by the damp, gray morning — is the entrance to the Ecseri Flea Market, today’s expedition. It’s a huge array of… well, let’s cut to the chase… junk. The fleas called, they’d like you to haul your stuff out of there, thanks. The 1970s called, they said they’d prefer to remain dead. Aisle after mind-numbing aisle of kitsch and another alliterative descriptor on a hand-numbing day.