S. was out of town for a few days and (phew) wanted to meet early for coffee, book-talk, and writing, so I hopped on Jack and tooled down to the Marigny to meet her. We sat outside at the cafe, sipping coffee (hers iced, mine hot) and worried about the state of things. Then I got down to some much-dreaded editing work, made better by the lovely weather and company. Then I heard the fruit truck from a couple blocks away. it shrieks something in this odd voice–I’m not sure what the truck says, but I know there’s produce on the other side of it. It pulled up across the street and a woman dashed out and picked up a bell pepper. Then this other woman, who clearly does a lot of shopping with the produce truck ran over. The women hugged and she got her shopping on while I lumbered up for a banana to tide me over before lunch. I wonder where she gets her produce. From afar I fancied the whole thing was local produce–Creole tomatoes and the like. But the banana I got was from the Dominican Republic, just like the ones from the grocery. I guess even the informal economy works at scale these days. I ate my banana and then climbed on Jack while S. got on her lovely blue bike in the foreground here, and we were off. Yes, it was a really, really nice day.
his name is *mr. okra*. he’s been doing this forever. his tone is radiantly nasal. his produce is sometimes local. but not always.
shout out to blue bike! we’ll call him phillip?
Thanks for the info re mr. okra! Yes, that’s one radiantly nasal tone there.
Phillip says thanks for stopping by the blog.
Hi Kate. As always I enjoy your writings and seeing NOLA through your eyes. Thanks for sharing your life.