For many, Friday nights are about letting your hair down. Personally, come Friday night I’m too tired to even think of styling my hair (hence the “let’s sleep an extra half hour and skip the shampoo” braided ‘do frequent to my work week). On this particular Friday night, few things seemed worthy of pausing over as we were wandering home, exhausted, at 2:00 am. The funny little fruit stand in Downtown Crossing was one of them.
It always amuses me that they would keep this opened all night in an area of the city that is mostly deserted, save for occasional passing of bar patrons, security surveillance and a scattering of homeless. I like to imagine it’s a front for some shady business. The gruff gentleman manning the booth, with his thick Boston accent and air of disinterest, only seems to support my theory. He politely ignored us as I held up pieces of fruit with questioning faces while Gregor snapped pics.
We paid for our goods and exchanged conspiracy theories for the rest of the walk home. And then, the highlight of any night out… Kicking off shoes, crashing on the couch, and feasting on fresh fruit and crackers and cheese, bunnies begging in our laps, before finally collapsing into sleep.