What is there not to love about grocery shopping?
Something about all that pick-and-choose and as-you-like and twist-and-turn that catches you and doesn't let you go.
All the colours, maybe. All the people, perhaps.
And you run and stand and imagine how it would be in another place with the same but different faces, and the adrenaline drugs you like only the best narcotics can.
I've been wondering lately how Morocco would feel beneath my toes, golden and redsome and earth and stone.
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