My Son’s Fruit and Produce

The name should be «My Sons: Bookies». If this place is a legit produce «market», then I am President of The United States. My Sons is a blight in a neighborhood that no one would call picturesque. In other words, it is hard to stand out as such a shit hole in a neighborhood this shitty.
Their hours are sporadic and unpredictable. It will be closed for days at a time and then open for a few hours one afternoon. Though the store is the size of a closet, it takes a staff of about 5 to 7 guys to run it for it’s few hours of operation. Running produce stand is easy: you just stand outside, don’t sell any fruits or vegetables, smoke a lot, and yell across the street to people.
Trash piles up outside, and blows down the street in the wind. When they are «open», a couple of boxes with a couple of dozen rotting onions, apples or heads of lettuce rolling around sit on crudely constructed racks outside. Inside looks like a disorganized closet of nightmares and fire hazards.
Gross. Unsightly. Offensive. A blight.