The Place You're Supposed to Laugh

★ ★ ★ ★ 1/2 (rounded up)
This originally appeared at The Irresponsible Reader.
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Those inclined to irony might find it in the Palo Alto Farmers Market assembled on asphalt, where there had once been an apricot orchard. Each weekend from May through December, the workweek parking lot filled with vendor stands and umbrellas protecting bins of trucked-in garlic cloves, avocados, tomatillos, et al. The University down the street was known as “The Farm,” though it hadn't been one since the Stanfords donated their country estate and chartered a college in the 1880s. Stanford grads and especially its dropouts had been transforming the Valley ever since; the fruit came from further and further away.

wink, wink

The Place You're Supposed to Laugh

The Place You're Supposed to Laugh

Disclaimer: I was provided with a copy of this novel by the author in exchange for my honest opinion, which is seen above.