Holding her mothers hand, the toddler walks away. With her other hand she keeps waving at me. The mother smiles at me and says: "Thank you again for the lollipop!" and to her daughter: "You are one lucky girl." They walk out the door past my stand with fruit and vegetables. The radishes are perfect today.
In the neighborhood, everybody knows me and I know everybody. In my shop I mainly sell vegetables and fruit, but I also have some daily necessities and candy near the counter. The neighbors like to come here for a chat or gossip about the community, but mostly for my great fruit. And I'm very proud of that. My bananas are always perfectly ripe, my apples hard and sweet and the seasonal fruit exactly the way they should be.
I do everything by myself in the shop. It's hard work, especially lifting all the crates with vegetables and fruit. At least I don't have to work out anymore. As if I have time for that. The days are long, but making a little girl happy with a lollipop or helping an old lady with her weekly groceries makes me realize why I do it all.
From the corner of my eye I see a young man coming in. I don't know his name, but his mother shops here often. She is very friendly, but I don't trust this boy at all. He must be around 19. Too old to misbehave but too young to not want to. Every time he has been here with his friends, some chocolate bars and cans of soda are missing. He is alone now. He has a buzzcut and wears a vibrant blue tracksuit. Under his dark eyebrows he has a provocative glance. He is tall, but just a bit shorter than I am. I can take him, I realize. All that lugging with crates put me in quite a good shape. My arms are muscular and my chest is broad. Definitely not an athlete, but according to some women from the neighborhood I look good. Especially for a forty-something.
He greets me and I do the same with a smile. I can't prove anything and until then I am mister nice guy. He lingers around the chocolate bars near the cash register. As if he is provoking me. He is slim and fit, but he slopes his narrow shoulders. His father probably tells him all the time to stand up straight. He grabs a Snickers and looks at me:
"You know I can swallow this whole?"
"They are really good indeed. I always eat them too quickly as well. They are one euro."
"You don't get what I'm saying"
He puts an euro on the counter and unwraps the Snickers. He puts the bar between his lips and pushes - without breaking eye contact with me - the whole thing to the back of his throat. He swallows and says beaming:
"Cool right? I never had a gag reflex."
He walks outside, grabs a banana and returns. He peels the skin down, puts the tip of the white fruit against his mouth and pushes the banana down as far as he can. I see his throat moving to accommodate the banana. He pulls out and shows me the intact fruit. I won't lie. This suggestive action does something in between my legs. That doesn't take much these days. My wife has lost all interest in me. Our bed is only used for sleeping.
The boy engulfs the banana a few times more and bends over the counter. He whispers:
