A French guy offered me an orange just now, “for free”.
“It’s a real orange,” he said, as he held it up for study. I’d just eaten three mandarines at home, so I declined. He persisted. I relented. No point in making a guy work to do a good deed, I thought.
Walking down the street seconds later, tossing and catching the orange in the air, I wondered what I was going do with it… eat it, nope; keep it all night, too bulky; throw it away, not an option.
Then, right there, the solution. The orange suddenly had a purpose.
A dreadlocked and thin young man of European origin, digging in a rubbish bin, chewing on some crusts of bread, stood in front of me. As he took the piece of fruit, he gave me the look you give someone who’s just found your missing car keys, it was kinda odd.
All the above took about 30 seconds. The gift. The walk. The giving away of the fruit. It’s taken longer to type this sentence.
In a world so full of noise, it was a rare moment when something actually felt like it made sense.
