Here in the land of Chestnut, far to the East, a great market exists dating back to the times of Babylonia.
(or is it Bologna?)... reminiscent of a Jewish bazaar, a Moroccan Market,
a Covent Garden of inexpensive wares apropos to the taste of urban hausfraus of Nawrth Filidealfiae and Centre Citiye exists.
Shopkeeps emigrate from far corners of this good Earth to distribute goodes like the dyverse arraye of sandals for the Samaritans who plod the concouryses, for players of baysekitbol, and great champyion of the Brod Street Marython.
Much work of artisans from all corners of this citye cometh here to this unique place to put their mark on the great edifices and the many Temples of Sneaker that line our footpath.
At one local establyshment where local men and local women in love congregayte to play curious games, a large and omynous set of letters was painted over the building... before Passover no less!
Luckilye, the devil curse was quickly snuffed out, and lo 'n behold, a priest from St. John's came forth and prayed with us of the gaye... and the scrawl was banished from this place.
EastChestnut, in the space between two urine-soaked subway stations.