The man with no teeth is at the stop/go again, pitching through his gap tooth smile to a captive audience as they wait for the reprieve of a green light. Our Tazz is over loaded with willing punters; there are no strawberries on sale in Masi and the man with no teeth has a crate full. If he’ll take 20 bucks then he’s made a sale, and made seven people very happy.
‘35 Rand Me Laaanie, fresh farm strawberry.’
He accepts 20, after a fight.
The strawberries are partitioned amongst hungry fingers, handfuls at a time. Corro gets the prize; a huge, almost gruesome looking thing beset by sweet pink tumours that looks like a warped pair of lips. He juggles it from palm to palm, as a jeweler might handle a prized diamond, holding it up to the light and savoring its bountiful unsightliness in glutonous anticipation. Then, he stuffs it into his pocket, away from prying eyes.
‘Ya, 10 rand’ he grins.
He’s gonna sell it. Cheeky bastard
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