orange

Interrupting myself in the middle of my snarky comments to amiable barista Erin regarding GMO at Freedom of Espresso, my home base as an artisanal certified word roaster, I said, "See this orange?" I grabbed one of the oranges in a bowl on the counter. I re-interrupted myself, to add: "Did you hear about the terrible citrus blight in Florida?" Erin threw in something about GMOs and Nature and purity. I countered with something askew, about fighting "nature" by fighting polio. "I don't eat polio," Erin added. Then I re-re-interrupted myself to proclaim: "Speaking of eating. So, some Buddhists, like Thich Nhat Hanh, suggest eating one orange mindfully, and contemplating the air, rain, soil, everything." "And GMOs," she tossed in there, as if in a salad. All the while, a coffee-wanting or tea-desiring customer, a young man, hipsterish, as if I'd know, is listening and watching this. I try to give him my apportioned eye contact. "Shouldn't that be everything, not just an orange? A rugelach?" she asks. "Sure," I say. (At the coffee shop, the rugelach is such a standard and so good, I just ask for cinnamon "rugs" and they know.)