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"... I haven't bought a vinyl for 1 month, it’s difficult to suppress my instincts to grab one... I had bought it for 350 Liras, then the man came back, he said me to wrap it up, afterwards he laughed ... I said they took it seriously, then we laughed, but they might be ashamed ... the year was 88, in Izmir, ahh that Joan Baez concert…”. I remembered why I was at the Antiques Market while striding through narrow stalls and listening to random conversations. The answer was very simple and it was a mistake for me to think about the reason so deeply: I wanted to get lost! I wanted to get lost in all these conversations, the imaginations or visualisations in my mind created by them, the stories that are long forgotten written on vintage postcards, dusty antique vinyls and especially those which write "To my darling Sibel. Ankara, 1974" on their labels. Then a photographer stall suddenly filled my vision. After a short pause, I headed towards it. I don't have much interest in old photography items. The newer, the better, in today's digital age. During the short pause, I had realised that the elderly gentleman at the distant stall have also been keeping an eye on my camera hanging from my shoulder. It was surprising to catch each others’ attention in a market like a beehive. Making a chat is inevitable from the moment we had initiated that eye contact, even from far away without talking. Turns out his name is Mehmet. He’s 80 years old, one of those old photographers. "If I sit at home and get lazy, my soul and body would decay” he says. Just like my grandmother shows me old photos from her albums, he started to show me the photos he had shot on digital cameras that are for sale and started telling their stories. I said "Look! You shoot everyone, nobody shoots you". It’s a common problem that we photographers often share but don’t say much. With excitement, he headed to the front of the counter immediately, posing with his cameras and all those analog stories digitally stored inside them. He took out his grandfather's war medal from the Independence War hidden inside his jacket, showed it to me like an Olympics medalist, and handed me his business card. If I may need to buy a used camera from another place in the market, he advised me to have it checked by him. Before I left, his hand was on his heart. Evening sunlight is falling on him. Next up, to get lost in market again among random conversations, that feels like coming from old movie lines or novels. Yellow sunset colours are filling the market; nature knows that this is an antique market, washed out yellow tint is a must on vintage items and elder people after my direct experience with them. Conversations start again, coming under the skin of old memories, pulling me from my hands through the market...