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sunday market

In 100, by Nora on November 25, 2018 at 3:45 pm

faj, whatever happened to the oyster guy? the guy who looked like he walked directly into the ocean, gently prying the oysters loose with barnacled-knuckly hands, the one with one blue eye, maybe he was blind, whose stand smelled saline-sharp behind the netting, who would hand us a flimsy styrofoam plate with a dozen winking kumamotos through the little window, along with the sesame-oil-slick plastic squeeze bottle of proprietary soy-vinegar-shallot vinaigrette (fuck mignonette am i right?), for our weekly eight-thirty-am-indulgence, eaten on plastic chairs amidst flying vietnamese words and toddlers in patagonia? i dunno– i guess he’s not here today.

  1. Flying vietnamese words (!)

  2. reminiscent of the walrus’s in alice and wonderland

  3. I once saw some oyster-shucking hands the image of which has stayed with me ever since.

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