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Having missed the nearby farmers' market the other day, I walked up to the next closest one on a nearby ridge. Bi-colored sweet corn was fifty cents an ear, beefsteak tomatoes were piled high, along with sweet onions and rainbows of sweet peppers. The Parker Pickle people were there, along with their sinfully tempting array of caramel and chocolate sauces, which somehow I managed to shun in favor of a big jar of mild dill pickles. Perverse.
Finished up a bizarre collection of short stories, another from Rikki Ducornet. She seems to me to be kind of in the tracks of Angela Carter, but without as much wit and fun. Our friend also sent a couple of her novels, so I may continue the foray.