"My son get one ticket," Judy says. She's in a face shield this morning, working in her garden (at once vibrant and chaotic). I thank her for the night-blooming cereus cuttings she gave me and Radhika the other day. "He and his friend wen get one ticket carrying da boat to da ocean," she says. "Dey not six feet apaht." Judy is not in a good mood this morning. "Dey do nutting wit da protesters," she says. "Which ones?" I ask. "Da ones downtown against da quaranteen," she responds. "I not going get tested on da H3; you wait in one line and you get it. Da tunnel's full of fumes. Why do it dere?" She picks up a water sprayer to shoot at her three or four fluffy chihuahuas, who have barked high-pitchedly through our entire conversation, words swallowed between her shield and my mask. Lilith stands by, quiet. [Apologies for my Pidgin infelicities.]
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2 comments:
No need to apologize.
Thank you, Charles Shere. And thanks for giving me reason to find your blogs.
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