In desperate need of onions, and not one tatter-tweeded ragamuffin to appear on my doorstep to bring them to me, I had to take to the streets yesterday afternoon in search of my own. To some of you in larger cities, where onions are aplenty and you have your fancy cars to take you to where onions are yours for the taking, I am certain this is laughable. But to me, trapped in this small riverside village, it was cause for tears. Believe me, the poeticism of crying over onions is not lost on me.
My trek and eagle-eye led me to this temptation:
With no sentry near and no sign indicating the cost of the bounty, I had to think quick. Did I snatch an onion or two for my starving family (true, my family is comprised only of my cat and me, but still it is a family and I appreciate your not scoffing) or did I round the bend of what I immediately recognized as an onion oasis and drop a few coins into the shopkeep’s dry, callused palm, my honor intact?
You tell me.
P.S. If you haven’t already voted in my poll, please do so. Merci.