prodouct:
made in the MARKET: F.na Francavilla (BRRRINDISI)
price: Ya ya ya ya-a yuppie yè
category: analogical local village
The Saturday market is internet more analog and quicker than I can take advantage of his mother, ever. The Sabbath is a day dedicated to the market ... and in my country is a practice that moves across the social economy, involving clandestine housewives and high school students, senators and husbands caring attitude.
My mom is part of the community, and the truth is an act of trust. It gives the market like a picnic or a holiday weekend. My mom does not issue shopping lists but it trails only decipherable to her: like bees. The logic is hidden and the hot spring powder weekly market drugs to people. Masses of people collide, "Permission", "Excuse me" is updated, spying, daring bids of almost medieval merchants, through the eyes of those who have suffered so many people from being able to tab the attitudes empirically and to provide voice and storyteller or Jester, the ruthless and arrogant boys, the summer sweat, and slogans league "stuff bbuona sjiòuraa", "€ a two, three five euro!"
My mom digs in robe used as a dog nose and pull the strings and as average prices and contracted for a kilo of oranges and knows the products of the merchants. My mother is fascinated by the market as a cigarette, and visit the stalls like a shipwrecked happy, as if they were web pages. It was the favorite links, and indeed I could well say that the favorite links replace the final shopping list. Just the vision of the stalls of confidence to feel the need to make a pair of tights rather than artichokes: John of "supporting American" (which I proudly presented this morning ... where my father is more jealous), cheese Lino ( I got one of those tubes chalky tasting Parmigiano ... as he did when I was 6, 7 and 8 years), Ciro's panties ... A village local analog. The local markets are rivers of information materials and goods and odors. Materials: you get dirty, you annoy, touch you and you exist.
markets are not the hall of the shopping centers.
(Erik Chilly)
made in the MARKET: F.na Francavilla (BRRRINDISI)
price: Ya ya ya ya-a yuppie yè
category: analogical local village
The Saturday market is internet more analog and quicker than I can take advantage of his mother, ever. The Sabbath is a day dedicated to the market ... and in my country is a practice that moves across the social economy, involving clandestine housewives and high school students, senators and husbands caring attitude.
My mom is part of the community, and the truth is an act of trust. It gives the market like a picnic or a holiday weekend. My mom does not issue shopping lists but it trails only decipherable to her: like bees. The logic is hidden and the hot spring powder weekly market drugs to people. Masses of people collide, "Permission", "Excuse me" is updated, spying, daring bids of almost medieval merchants, through the eyes of those who have suffered so many people from being able to tab the attitudes empirically and to provide voice and storyteller or Jester, the ruthless and arrogant boys, the summer sweat, and slogans league "stuff bbuona sjiòuraa", "€ a two, three five euro!"
My mom digs in robe used as a dog nose and pull the strings and as average prices and contracted for a kilo of oranges and knows the products of the merchants. My mother is fascinated by the market as a cigarette, and visit the stalls like a shipwrecked happy, as if they were web pages. It was the favorite links, and indeed I could well say that the favorite links replace the final shopping list. Just the vision of the stalls of confidence to feel the need to make a pair of tights rather than artichokes: John of "supporting American" (which I proudly presented this morning ... where my father is more jealous), cheese Lino ( I got one of those tubes chalky tasting Parmigiano ... as he did when I was 6, 7 and 8 years), Ciro's panties ... A village local analog. The local markets are rivers of information materials and goods and odors. Materials: you get dirty, you annoy, touch you and you exist.
markets are not the hall of the shopping centers.
(Erik Chilly)
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