The exercise:
Write four lines of prose that have something to do with: the troublesome Mr. Gent.
Who the heck is that? you may be asking. I have no idea, it's just a name that came along with the adjective when I was tossing prompt ideas around in my head.
So you tell me, basically.
Tomorrow is Peach Fest in Penticton, which brings with it the annual parade that pushes the farmers market off Main Street and onto a side street adjacent to it. A very condensed version of it, anyway. There's only room for twenty vendors (as opposed to over sixty) and no space for vehicles. Which means unloading everything when we get there, parking elsewhere, and then doing it all in reverse when it's time to go home.
I'm hoping there won't be too much left to pack up at that point, but we are certainly bringing a lot of produce. Fingers crossed that Becky's final market (and Carolyn's first) with us will be a good one.
Mine:
"He's knocking on the door once more!" roared Eleanore. "He's already borrowed ten pounds of sugar this week, how can he possibly expect more?"
"This must be the end, the battle lines shall be drawn," replied Dawn. "The next time I see him coming, I shall set fire to the lawn."
3 comments:
Are you dressing Max up as Mario then, and letting him run around Peach Fest looking for Princess Peach? That sounds like it could be fun ;-)
Good luck with the market though, and congratulations on being one of the 20 vendors that can actually sell produce on the side street. I guess peaches aren't in the food you'll be taking to sell though?
Heh, I like the idea of setting fire to the lawn! I hope your Mr. Gent gets the message after that!
The troublesome Mr. Gent
"I like my cigarettes pre-smoked," said Mr. Gent, eyeing the cashier balefully. He was a boy really, probably only just old enough to work the kiosk and sell cigarettes, and he looked a little stunned.
"Huh?"
"Take each cigarette out of the packet, light it, smoke it for two draws and then put it out and back in the packet again," said Mr. Gent, his ancient face wrinkling in an approximation of a smile.
Mr. Gent entered the kitchen, his nose already deep in the Sunday newsprint.
“Miss Sunder, I would like two scrambled egg whites mixed with medium sized mushroom pieces, tomatoes without the seeds, and a teaspoon of salt; an English muffin lightly toasted with just the barest spread of butter and strawberry jam; one piece of crispy bacon; one smoked sausage link; an orange juice glass of milk; and large glass of orange juice.
He sat at the table while she sighed and rolled her eyes. Just a typical day at work.
Greg - that... actually sounds like a lot of fun. Maybe next year!
We did have peaches, but far more nectarines. Though I remember a Peach Fest market a few years back that arrived before our peaches were ready. That seemed like... not ideal timing.
Oof, that is a rather troublesome customer. I do not envy the cashier his position!
Ivybennet - you know, the thing that bothers me most about all that is the demand for a single piece of bacon. That just... irks me, haha.
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