I would have considered this piles of comics (fumetti in Italian) a treasure several decades ago. Nobody would have been happier than myself if owing these boxes full of imaginative drawings and stories. As the years passed by, my priorities has changed, the world has changed, the kid's wishes and priorities have changed. Once every kid's dream, rather expensive comic books, when fresh out of print, lie stacked carelessly in the cardboard boxes. Dusty, mouldy, on a crumbling paper and cheap. I miss the whole excitement of asking mom or dad for money, through rushing over to the newsstand on my old bike, speeding up back home with my precious acquisition, throwing myself on the couch, inhaling the fumes of freshly printed book and slowly indulging myself into the new mysterious adventure, that some unknown artist had so meticulously and amazingly drawn for me.
Only occasional visitor of the flea market cares to look t them, browse in search of the almost forgotten story or a hero, whose adventures he or maybe even she enjoyed as a kid.
I have yet to deal with my own huge comics collection. The one that holds nice memories, but I hardly ever read any of these comics. No time for that in the hectic world of today.