The avocado man

I was walking down avenida Corrientes. Sunny day. Strangers, coming and going right past each other. All living out their little lives, feeling zero to no compassion for each other as they zoomed by.

I had my backpack on. I had just bought a couple of things. As I neared my apartment building, I passed a man selling avocados.

The avocado man.

I kept walking, but his ‘sale’ entered my mind and I weighed it: three avocados for 250 pesos. Three avocados for two-fiddy. A dollar is roughly 208 pesos. Three avocados for a dollar and change.

I circled back.

I removed my earbuds, took off my Ray Bans, and went on to transact business, not before saying,

“Damn, that smells really good,” the man was taking the last hits of a joint. I tried to come up with a crack about him selling that too.

I couldn’t.

He most likely saw enthusiasm in my eyes, delight. He was probably high as balls. He said,

“This? Go ahead, have a toke,”

He reached out the smoking roach.

I said, “Oh, no! I can’t – ” I was about to tell him about my recent surgery and recovery, when he said,

“I get it pal, you’re working. I apologize, let me put this out,”

Down went the roach.

“Don’t sweat it man,” I said.

I looked over his avocados. They were in a box on a wooden chair; the backrest said:

‘3 x 250’

The avocados looked like testicles. Big and black and gonad-like. I wanted to say something to this effect. I opted to keep my mouth shut.

Having established stoner-rapport, the avocado man said,

“Ok, let’s see. Let me get you some big, good ones. Guys, I give the biggests. Broads, they don’t eat much you see, us guys, we need it,”

My laughter filled the sidewalk.

I put the avocados in my backpack and bid the avocado man farewell, I said

“Goodbye, man. Enjoy.”

***