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before the breweries
before the murals
before downtown started trying to explain itself

there was Roanoke City Market

still there too

sitting in the middle of the city like an old heartbeat
steady even when everything around it changes names

people forget how long it’s been going

farm trucks rolling in before sunrise
wood crates thudding onto pavement
cold hands counting cash before the banks were even open

back when roanoke smelled more like rail dust and produce
than coffee shops and candles

city market saw all of it

workers grabbing breakfast before shifts
kids getting dragged around half awake
old men talking weather like it was scripture

there were years it felt rougher
years the paint peeled
years people said downtown was dead

but the market stayed open anyway

that’s the thing about places like this

they outlive predictions

under those awnings
you can still feel pieces of every version of the city stacked together

farmers
street preachers
punks
office workers
people downtown on purpose
people downtown because they got nowhere else to be

music bouncing off brick walls
someone selling flowers two feet from someone yelling about god
someone buying peaches while sirens pass behind them

roanoke condensed into one stretch of pavement

and at night
after the tents close
after the crowds thin out

the place changes again

lights reflecting off wet brick
empty tables chained together
wind moving through like it remembers every decade at once

city market doesn’t pretend to be clean history

it’s worn-in history

still breathing
still loud
still feeding people

same as always