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| - In the style of Bret Easton Ellis:
Took a walk down a flight of stairs, landed in downtown Phoenix, strolled into its center, into the Public Market. Don't let people lie to you, Public Markets are for the ugly. I usually shop at the Whole Foods, or the F&E, the most beautiful groceries. Met a couple of Brits who take me to of all stations, organic fruits, vegetables, vegan cookies. I flirt a bit at the flaxseed stand, buy some bad homemade panflute CDs, then follow some girls with pink hair. Wrote my mom a postcard I never sent, got a lecture from a Rasta junkie trying to sell me a stolen bike but settled for a hemp lecture instead. Smoked a cig in the dirt lot, but revelers kept giving me The Eye. Saw the Maya. Saw the MBB. Saw the stand alone store. Ate a lot of weird Moroccan food. It was mild. The booths were okay. Lots of art i don't care for and moreover don't want polluting my Alvar Aalto living room. The dreamcatchers were intense. Wandered around, bought a lot of pastry, ate some intense cookies. I pretend to ice-skate around Central Avenue. Almost become road kill. Trade songs with a Kiwi girl, then split for the Asian chocolatier. The chocolate pound cake rocks like you can't imagine. Asian girls are small as pixies. Sneak into the tent and steal some Couverture so good my dick goes hard. I move on to the salsas and hummuses which is a bust. Too many Americans making the stuff, too many lame pitas. I dipped olive oil with the Serrano Familia, which was a trip, to say the least. Cruise up the coast to the food court, but had no more money, which sucked. Some girl from Melrose tells us about their credit card policy, so I let her charge my card for tickets. She thinks I'm a capitalist - my burro costs more tonight than her entire weekly rent. She doesn't mind much when I pay the fee. Ended up on the edge of the market, which is big and hot and dirty. Just like LA, but with awnings. It was inexpensive and I'm jonesing - split for Amsterdam. Not the Dutch, but the Gays. They know English so I didn't have to speak Dutch, which was a relief. The next morning, I wake up talking to myself. I had a big bump on my head from flailing in my sleep. I get my stuff and barely make my job in south Phoenix. I no longer know who I am and I feel like the ghost of a total stranger.
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