In the black hours before dawn, a vacant parking lot at Eighth and Washington begins to stir. Their quiet voices carry in the stillness. As they unload and set up, they greet each other without breaking the rhythm of work, carry on conversations which pause as boxes scrape across tailgates.
Potatoes thud softly into baskets.
Woman laughter rises and falls. The eastern sky still lacks color. Toward town, traffic lights in night mode flash red, as do lights atop downtown buildings, lending a carnival air. Shade netting over the farmers' booths flutters and snaps in the breeze. The constellation Orion pitches headfirst across the heavens, his faithful dog Sirius following behind, just above the Santa Fe Building.