The Plums of Harrison St

She stands on a ladder with her head under the canopy of leaves. Gently she probes for the darkest fruit, like purple bruises. She must separate them tenderly, or they will shake off their sisters, and explode into the grass. Even so, she loses many to gravity.

As she picks she exhorts passersby to have plums. Some ignore her, some gather as many as their hands can hold. She delivers bags of plums to her neighbors. She eats many, popping them whole into her mouth and pressing only slightly to extract their offering of juice.

This has been her mission for the last couple of weeks. There is nothing more important than the dispensing of plums.