The market is a wonderful place.

Busy people walk, and talk in sunshine.

White cherry blossom peddles blow across the intersection like bleach styrofoam snowflakes. It’s a four way stop. All cars are idling.

Wrinkled newspaper swirls in the parking lot. A dry hot sun beats down on useless trash. The Dollar Tree Outlet blinks neon green flutter, electrical bankrupt stutter. People walk out just as unsatisfied as they entered.

Coupons and half price wishes pushed along in baby strollers. I got my gallon of 2% is your’s expired as well?

Stone pillars and white glove grocery slaves collect thin medal carts. They shine in the day with missing wheels. Newspaper tornadoes rise over the building’s rooftop.

The market place is wonderful.