Yuri pulled his Nissan Maxima into the shopping center and waited . . .
Tag: Adam Rosen
“How much is this?” the middle-aged man asked, irritated. He pointed a finger at a bunch of lacinato kale—fresh in, a chalk-marked sign indicated, from a farm outside Hickory. He had been waiting at the stand for five minutes, and was not about to wait a minute longer.
“Four-fifty,” said the man behind the table. He looked too old to still be farming, and he spoke softly. It was hard to hear him over the banjo playing nearby. The upright bass didn’t make it any easier. “That’s fresh in from Hick’ry.”
“That’s what the sign says!” replied the man as he stuffed two bunches into his tote. The WNCW logo covered the canvas bag in big blue letters that nobody could miss. “I usually do rainbow chard, but it’s disgusting this week. It looks like it’s from the SuperSaver.”
“Well, we’re the freshest,” said the farmer, smiling sweetly . . .
Featured: Black Interest
- The Angels’ Share
- Pepperpot: Best New Stories from the Caribbean
- Gathering of Waters
- Trinidad Noir
- The Plot Against Hip Hop
- The Roving Tree
- Addis Ababa Noir (Ethiopia)
- Abstraktion und Einfühlung
- The Family Mansion
- Scars of the Soul Are Why Kids Wear Bandages When They Don’t Have Bruises
- To Funk and Die in LA