As always, feedback and constructive comments always welcome. Enjoy!
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When I told my dude about this gig, he compared it to shootin' fish in a barrel. And now when I think about it, he was right. I must've done some serious atoning for the shit that got me locked up, because I have never been livin' like I am now.
I probably should be singing the praises for the PPP (Project Parole Produce) program for where I am now. The prison started the program in collaboration with a local university and city commission to get parolee's reintegrated to the outside. But real-talk, the best part is I get to sit under a make-shift tent, three days a week, taking money from white folk! And it's all legal.
It does make for some good people watching too. I convinced the program manager to change the name of the stand to "Projects to Produce" and drop the parole part. Some of them middle aged women was leery about coming by. I had to explain to them that by buying their food at my stand, they would be helping a brother out. Yeah, I had to put on my white voice too.
The long dreads, dark sunglasses, and gold teeth, I know weren't all that inviting, but here we were. Eventually when they were convinced I knew what I was selling, I got some good referrals. Good enough that I got the program to get expanded to more neighborhoods. Then, when I was done doing time, they put me in charge of the operation.
I shift around three sites, a different place each day. My favorite one is the right on the edge of town that brings in all the suburb business. Yeah, you know exactly what I'm getting at, soccer moms. The market is open mostly in the early afternoon to early evening, I figure to accommodate for all them damn soccer games. But I can't complain.
They all show up in a routine. I get my canopy set up and throw on my mirror shades as soon as all the produce is on the tables. Then I kick back and watch them stream in. Usually there's always one or two with some high-waist mom jeans. Lot of pancake butt, but you get them rare thick ladies. Mind you, this is a wealthier burb, so I see a whole lot of big black sunglasses too.
That's how I first seen Tasha, or Latasha. Sunglasses so big I couldn't even see her eyebrows. You could say the same for her dress. I hate them maxi dresses (had to google that shit), covering all the goods up. But I could see that she was stacked up top.
"Nice melons, there." I called out to her. She looked at me with her lips in an O and I pointed in front of her. On the table below, the watermelons greeted her sight. "Juicy..." I lingered as I peered at her chest closer behind my own glasses. "...and seedless."
She laughed at herself and waved me off, trying to pick one up. "Don't encourage her." A voice chuckled. I looked to see a portly dude wiping his brow and forehead. "Or else I'll be eating those melons all week." His hairline was clearly receding, but he couldn't have been as old as me. I paid him little attention and focused on who I assumed was his wife.
"Mhmm, they're sweet." I responded, "Can't imagine you'd get tired of them." At this point I was still commenting on her tits.
"Well, if you say so, put one on the bill." The man waved and got the attention of his wife. "One?" He held up a finger and mouthed it to her. She held up two fingers and gestured holding up two. Her hands were definitely much smaller than her chest. "What I tell ya?" He responded. "Make it two."
"That gonna be it?" I asked and he looked back at her.
She was already stuffing a bag with some produce in front of her, causing her husband to frown. "I guess there's more." He stood awkwardly and kept patting at his forehead. "Phew, this heat huh?" He tried to make conversation but I didn't encourage it. "Tasha!" He called out to her after a few moments.
"She sure do got quite a handful." I laughed.
"It's like this every time. I say one and she always manages to want more." He laughed and lowered his tone as she approached. "Well, did you get what you wanted dear?"
"Oh Mark! They've got a great selection here." Tasha rummaged through her bag and pulled out some tomatoes. "Look at how fresh these look! We've got to come here more often."
"Sure thing. But let's see how long they last." Mark humored her. "Or if you'll use them." He winked at me.
"I'll get you all situated here ma'am." I gestured for the bag to count up their order. She leaned forward and the chest of the dress gave way, giving me a peek at her melons. "Fantastic, thank you." The bag had a few things here and there. The tomato comment by Mark got me thinking and started to speak out loud. "You know, if you're thinkin' about the freshness, we also do some home-deliveries for our community share members."
Now I was absolutely making this shit up, but I had thought about it before, since it is a thing. I could see them looking at each other, trying to persuade with just looks one way or the other. I jumped before they could say anything else. "There's a one-time free-trial if you're interested."
Tasha was mouthing the word "please" and Mark caved. "Um, alright I guess. How much is it?" He asked.
"The first time is free. If you want to subscribe after, talk it over and let me know. I can add y'all to the rotation for next week." I explained.
"That sounds great!" Tasha flashed her big white smile. She handed the bags to Mark and fluttered over to another vendor.
"Well, do I have to fill out a form or something?" Mark asked, defeated.
"Nah man, just the address for drop-off, we deliver on Wednesdays." I reassured him of his decision. "We accept cash and checks for subscriptions too."
"How much are those?" Mark had already accepted his fate after looking at his wife again, he pulled his wallet out.
"There's different levels of membership and length of season. I can work with you on what y'all think is right for you." I didn't want to get into the numbers, but I kept a keen eye on Tasha. "You alright Mark," I held my hand out to him, "I'll work with you on it."
I took down the address and watched him simper over to catch up with Tasha. I thought he must've been loaded to get a piece like her. When they rolled out of the parking lot in a black Benz, my intuition had served me well.
The truth of it was that Wednesday was my only day where I wasn't at the markets. I stuck around the compound and helped with the yard garden with some of the guys still doing time. Those are really the days when I break a sweat. I made the most of this time by swiping a few vegetables and fruits from the plot for the special delivery.
Mark and Tasha's house was on the way so I decided to just stop through on the way home. The cookie cutter houses with green lawns made me second guess my looks. Cut off sleeves and black basketball shorts with Timberlands speckled with dried dirt all over, not something you'd find regularly in this hood. Shit, my truck probably looked out of place.
