"Well, has the issue with the new house been resolved?" walking through the old town asked Dara.
"Yeah, and they gave compensation, but there was no longer a dungeon under the cellar, just earth," Shir Ali muttered sadly under his breath.
"Cheer up, Bro, now we'll see if we can hit the jackpot, today" Dara chuckled.
"Are you sure about this"? the cousin remarked skeptically.
"Until you check, you will not know anything!" answered the question, in a cliché style, Dara.
Old city. Built 3000 years ago. On light brown loess deposits. On the hills were adobe houses, ancient mausoleums of the 14th century.
Once every two months in the old town, they organize a big fair where they sell unnecessary things, sometimes finds found on the hills nearby.
Sometimes it was possible to buy a very valuable thing at the fair for very little money.
Dara and Shir Ali walked along the cobbled street, on both sides of which were spread different rags, small carpets on which were lying different things.
The sun was shining brightly, it was hot. From the glass and brightly polished copper sides of things, the sun sparkled, reflecting off them.
Dara looked at things on the right, and Shir Ali on the left. Hoping to find something of value to sell for a good profit.
Since handicraft production was not developed at a very high level, it was not profitable for local crooks to forge old items. Like their counterparts in the Middle East. Therefore, the things found from the hills in the old city were original, no fakes.
On the rags lay old busts of the leaders of the proletariat, sets of postcards, albums with stamps issued in millions of copies. They were worthless. Is that 30 percent of the catalog price of 20-30 cents for a series of stamps.
Notepads from party conferences and congresses. Pewter and tin badges, brass teapots, porcelain, and earthenware bowls and plates.
Steel and cupronickel cutlery. Old wooden chess with a worn surface. Stone backgammon inlaid with ornamental crystals.
Glass and crystal glasses, vases. Knitting needles made of aluminum. Steel barbecue sticks. Coils of copper wire.
Knitted socks, sweatpants from China, old Russian books, new comics from Japan in Japanese. One silver US dollar. Old coins of the first empire, copper 1897 and 1915.
Some strange copper coins with blurry edges and bizarre patterns reminiscent of Arabic, Kufic script.
"What?" Dara suddenly woke up.
"Copper coins with Kufic script, it seems they are coins of the 18th century ..." Shir Ali whispered softly near his ear.
"Not very rare, but you can get a couple of tens of dollars for them," flashed through Dara's head.
Shir Ali noticed the battered book. Squatting down, he did not even leaf through and began to bargain with the seller.