THAT LATENT IMAGE
Long time back, when Hector was a
pup, when this man's Army was a
ten-man patrol, I used to believe
in everything I was told. The rabbit
who hunted dog-meat, the bridge
that collapsed under the weight
of snow. Such a conundrum I
could never understand.
One day in Red Hook, at the
Fairway Market, the cook guy
came out with a tray. Right to
where we were sitting in a busy
afternoon - late sunlight burning
down, NY Waterway taxi-boats,
ferrying to and from. I wasn't
sure how far or how often.
Anyway, just sitting out with some
coffee and stuff, three of us were in
one place - the guy comes out with
a platter of food, had to be worth forty
bucks, and says 'Here! Compliments
of Fairway Market!' With a big smile
he puts the tray down, and walks off.
I'm not the kind to think twice about
what needs instant action, so we took
the food, and said 'thank you, Rico'
(name-badge), as he walked off. The
only confusion came later - do we
tip Rico for something freely given?
Oh, oh, the questions mount : we
left three bucks and floated away;
wondering, later, does Rico have
a sister we can ask about all this?