Durian Trader - JB

Always surprising a well-known caricature come to life on the streets, as if performing for one particularly. The old Chinese opposite loading up the car with durian.

         Ah yes, that was right. He could not possibly have been either the owner or driver. The delivery man or trader was more like it, stuck with the wife making her selection of the fruit while the hubby was having a quick teh.

The figure he made a kind of Weg portrait from the Sun-Herald Melbourne news-stands of the sixties and seventies: loose hair flopping over the forehead—dyed in this milieu; baggy non-descript polo, missing teeth with an over-bite accentuated clamped down on the fag.

         Placing the fruit in the back door chap knew to butt-out—stomping blindly without need of sight-line. (Just nicked the tip sufficiently on the lit end.)

         Fabric dirty over the paunch, heavy lines from the living; nothing missing of the stock medieval figure from any number of centuries past. Lady taking her time he was used to. Boozer in former days possibly, might have slowed down.

         Enter the hubbie in laundered blue-striped polo, John Lennon dark glasses, neat cut: perfect fit behind a silver chariot. The other eats his durian fresh beneath the branches of the trees in the forest.

         Disappeared after the sale leaving an old rusty steel prong behind for his possie, against a post one side and concrete-filled plastic bucket the other for the convenience of the next buyer. Easy parking.

         The Indian Muslim pillow-hawker from ten weeks ago still here. This corner between the eatery and the wonderful old wood-fueled bakery—the sticks either side of the doorway half screened behind recently added fencing —no doubt provides rich pickings. On this pass the man only carted a single item, wrapped in the original plastic. Tall, stooped, early forties and looking much older. The smile flashed was a development from the amiable visage that came with the trade. No good looking daggers in a business set-up, especially with a skull-cap.
         As usual, the schoolboys and girls in their blinding cricket-whites, collared safari shirts with epaulettes, silver buttons and matching belt for the lads. There was a retailer near-by, noticed a number of times on the explorations of the quarter. The soccer coach last night at Sri Geylang had mentioned all the new upper tier schools for the mat salleh over in Johor (Marlborough being one). These kids were all Chinese.
         Not unexpectedly, Hiap Joo Bakery and Biscuit Factory has numerous mentions on Lonely Planet and Trip Advisor; as yet no sign of the lamentable developments that usually follow such popularity. The elder generation still in charge likely. The durian trader had not been noticed previously.