The first light of dawn sneaks through the gaps in the blinds, casting soft golden stripes across the room. The shrill cry of the alarm clock pierces the quiet, dragging me from my dreamless sleep. My eyelids reluctantly flutter open as I groan, wanting to just stay in bed. My brain demands why I woke up at this ungodly hour.
A flash of realization jolts me, my heart racing as I bolt upright in bed. The thought of the farmers market flashes in my mind—fresh produce slipping through my fingers if I don’t hurry. I scramble out from the warm covers, my feet barely touching the floor as I rush to get dressed, the image of early-morning crowds pressing me to move faster.
In my frantic rush to get ready, I knock over my glass of water all over the alarm clock, making it sizzle and crack. Sighing, I mumble some words that probably shouldn’t be repeated.
I rush out the door, only to freeze halfway down the street. My pocket is empty—no wallet. Swearing under my breath, I sprint back, throwing open the door and snatching it from the cluttered kitchen drawer.
Wallet in hand, I charge back out the door and down the block.
The market’s lively buzz grows louder with each step, the cobblestone streets are a blend of color and sound. Street food sizzles as kids frolic, their parents keeping a close eye on them. My eyes wander towards the brightly colored stalls of fresh produce. Fruit stands of canary yellow bananas, granny smithGranny Smith apples and juicy, perfectly ripe strawberries all tempt me; but I move on, deeper into the labyrinth of the market.