So I talked to this fella at Eastern Market in Washington DC - i think he asked if he could have my hair. I said, "NO!" -- but he ended up telling me he had just come over from Africa.
Now, DC is a pretty random acts of violence/crime city, so I was wary - and I hate that a lot. I wish I were a 7 foot tall like, American Indian kung fu master or something intimidating like that so I would not feel so damn defenseless in the face of all the lovely culture around me that I really just want to talk to. I don't speak 3 languages for nothin', folks.
I love me a good market!
I asked this penn dude if he ever went to the amish market on 43rd in west philly, and he said no! &#$^%*#$? Needless to say, he is dead to me (for many reasons, this one being high up on the top 10).

I remember when me and Steph would venture to like, 50th street to get an apple popover because hey, there was a mini amish market there, and we the one we ate was on a picnic table prefabricated for chess-playing. We also bought a pitcher (for lemonade) for like 50 cents from some store with a lot of cooooool fake hair. Mind you, i think we were in the area where the Prince of Bel Air met those boys that were "up to no good" and who "started making trouble in the neighborhood" -- if you catch my drift. But it was day, and it was a good apple turnover, and you gotta love the amish. Moral? markets have really good apple turnovers, tomatoes and kooky folk, even if they are a bit scary.
Risk it.
Anyway, they were playing Nancy Wilson and Al Green at the market, it was mucho appreciated. Observe as I remind meredith what you're supposed to do when you hear music.
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