The farmer’s market bustled, horns in the parking lot honking, people jostling into each other and dodging hand carts.
Andre, Timmy, and Hickey strolled through, Timmy stepping over the yellow chalk lines that marked the vendor stalls.
“Late summer, all the douchey tourists coming for the pumpkin-flavored shit that’s starting,” Hickey said.
“Douchier than …
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