Saturday. 8 am. Dress in standard street wear: skirt, blouse and flip flops. Head downtown. Toss keys and wallet into macrame vegetable bag. Move into the fray of farmer’s market vendors. Chuckle at pickled frog’s balls (artichoke hearts). Enjoy a haggle with the bolani hawkers. Breathe in the kettle corn popping. Wink at the cosmetically challenged veggies. Scan prices: two for five, three for one, a dollar a pound. Listen to the church bells pealing, the change jangling in my pocket, the soft slap-thwack of my flip-flops. Resist temptation of brownie cheesecake. Choose just ripe nectarines. Feast my senses on the flower stall. Sample tangelos and pluots. Give my strawberry money to a guitar man singing Cohen’s Hallelujah.