Experiencing Writer Incontinence
Yesterday morning started with shopping at the downtown Phoenix Farmer’s Market. Individual tables with tented fabric overhead are set around a funky coffee shop that serves farm fresh breakfast and sells few grocery items that are regionally unique. I begin at the Pichuberry booth, my favorite fruit, now for a few years. The table has a clear clam shell container with samples, so I peel back a thin skin, hold the bottom bud and pop the bright yellow-orange firm fruit into my mouth. My Saturday morning ritual has begun. The next table is by Grindz, a local Scottsdale company that specializes in raw chocolate. I buy their raw zesty lemon bars for my upcoming week’s breakfast. Onto produce tents where I nosh a few samples — this week’s special is melon — honeydew, watermelon, and something yellow I don’t recognize but love, then I pick up my grass fed eggs. I walk by the street musician who is playing an electric guitar singing original songs. I can’t help myself, I...
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