Mr. Ex and I lived in downtown Phoenix for seven years. As much time as he spent out and about (mostly at his local watering hole hangouts), and as often as we frequented the places down there, neither one of us had been aware of the Farmer’s Market within walking distance of our apartment.
There had been no flyers on the doors.
There had been no flyers from the complex office.
There had been no mention of it from any of the restaurants and cafe’s we ate at down there.
I don’t remember how I’d heard about it, but I only went there once or twice towards the end of our marriage. To this day, I’m kicking my ass for not going more often.
Needless to say, I have seen the error of my ways.
Black goddess musings on life and becoming a sustainably-conscious human being.