the market stretches out for miles. actual miles. you read it in the brochure. all manner of produce and local fare. and girls in high heels and summer dresses with little belts synched around their little waists smelling figs and checking for bruises on the skins of white peaches. their baskets filled with fresh roses and flour from the mill to take home to make bread for their husbands who never get to see them just like this, like you see them, out in the sun. smelling fruit, smiling at you, and winking at each other like they know something.
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