Tom 's The Fiddler Crab Catcher Essays

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Tom’s the Fiddler Crab Catcher
One late afternoon as I look out from a large window where I work, I saw this raggedy white van pulling into the parking lot, as It park towards the north side of the lot I noticed the AC unit protruding from the back door. My attention changed as a customer came in, I greet him and as usual with his nasty attitude Newport’s one hundred, a blue game and the rest on pump 5. He dangled the bundle up twenty- dollar bill on the counter, rotated around and walk away towards the wrong exit I said, the other door Sir, thanks have a nice day.
I turned around to get a carton of Newport’s to restock the rack, I heard a voice” is the coffee fresh? Before I rotate around, I looked up at the monitors, and out of my mouth, yes sir, it was picked this morning from the jungles of Colombia, flew into the country by the drug lords, never passed customs, cautiously roasted with a touch of the house blend oils, grounded at the Suffolk plant, delivered by Christina by two thirty and brewed fifteen minutes ago is that fresh enough for you? Sir, I spun around, he said you still love me? I prolonged my hand how are you Tom? Back for another season he replied.
After he gets his coffee and some pastry still mumbles like before, has a habit of having very long conversations where you don’t know the beginning nor the end or how you were included in it. Unexpectedly a sentence that I can understand, is Sue around? The owner of the establishment, no I replied she will be…

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