THIS IS … well, I don’t know his name in spite of having known him more than a decade.
Twelve or so years ago he walked our streets with a cardboard jar requesting donations for a drug-rehab center. I don’t know if he was a patient or just a helper. I suspect the former.
But that didn’t last very long — a couple of years — and then he started selling churros, a sugar-coated pastry. He’s been doing that on downtown streets ever since.
You can hear him coming a block away as he yells churros, churros, churros. Sometimes I buy one to go with my café Americano negro. That’s what I did yesterday.
He totes the basket and loops that collapsible stand over his forearm. And he’s always very upbeat.
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(Note: For a superior version of this shot and other fabulous photos, take a look here.)
WE HAVE TWO primary plazas in our Colonial downtown. One is a good bit bigger than the other.
We call the bigger one the Big Plaza, and we call the smaller one the Small Plaza, but we do it in Spanish, not English.
The two are just one block apart.
They are very distinctive, those two plazas. The Big Plaza is where fancy people hang out. The Small Plaza is where the working class gathers. It appears to be self-segregation.
I, of course, hang out in the Big Plaza.
There are other differences. The Big Plaza has far fewer sidewalk vendors than the Small Plaza, which not only has more vendors but a wider variety of products.
The vendors on the Big Plaza mostly sell corn on the cob. The far more numerous vendors on the Small Plaza sell all sorts of stuff. I’m particularly fond of shrimp cocktails.
I was slumming the other day by walking through the Small Plaza, and I noticed this smiling woman selling ice cream. I took her photo, and here it is.