1319 : farmer's market :

I went to a farmer's market near the apartment where a poet died. He did a lot of drugs for a lot of reasons but he just wanted to be pure. The farmer's market is the only time I see white people in my neighborhood and I bought fresh pasta and quiche (what's whiter than that?) and an onion and the cap of a portobello and some rolls and a tiny pumpkin pie and some hot sauce and I am working on an art project and I need some advice. I have been filling an empty bottle of Scotch with bent beer caps. It looks pretty cool but I wonder if adding my belly button lint would make it cooler or grosser. I want to do whatever will bring me top-dollar in this case. I do not think I know anyone who was not molested.