You Were Watching the Misters
You: enormous. And I mean that respectfully. Six foot something, maybe more, I'm bad at this. Yellow and blue jacket. The best hair I have ever seen on a person, and I want to say it changed colour when I said hi? Like it went sort of coral. If that's a product please tell me what it is.
You weren't picking anything up. You were watching the sprinklers come on over the lettuce, watching the mist land on the damp — wet, even — romaine, with a look on your face like it was the best thing that had happened to you all week. And honestly, same.
Me: guy behind you holding a rotisserie chicken. Cargo shorts. You wouldn't have noticed me, I was blocking the bagged salad for about four minutes.
I don't know what you're into. But if you're ever back around that time, I'm out of work at 5:30 and I am extremely flexible about lettuce.
Also, and I won't apologise for this: the bag. The neon one. No notes. Whatever you're doing, it's working.
Long shot. You'll probably never see this. Coffee?