It was just before dawn when the truck started down the road that leads into Vacaville, California, carrying 50 thousand pounds of tomatoes.
Yes, there were 50 thousand pounds. Of tomatoes.
He was a young driver, just out on his second job and he was carrying the next day’s crimson fruits for everyone in the Bay area where children play where they can, avoiding the homeless while folks manage to walk around all the used needle on the ground to get their tomatoes.
Yes, they’ll eat 50 thousand pounds of tomatoes.
He passed the sign that he should’ve seen saying yield to traffic. It’s a $200 dollar fine, my friend. He was thinking perhaps about the woman of the evening who was waiting at the journey’s end. He started toward that long I-80 from the entrance ramp that took him past the overpass.
He was pushing on through the shortening miles that ran down to the markets. Just a few more to get until he’d check in and have her ease that cramped day away. And the smell of 50 thousand pounds of tomatoes.
Yes, the smell of 50 thousand pounds of tomatoes.
He was picking up speed as the ramp had spread its concrete path before him. But he paid no heed but to the shivering thoughts that the night’s delights would score him. He looked too late into his blind spots and merged too quickly into several honks.
He yelled “Christ!”
It was funny how he’d named the holy man banned from the Golden State. He was trapped in early morning traffic, riding on his fear-hunched back with every one of those red and green 150 thousand fresh, ripe tomatoes.
Yes, there there were 150 thousand new tomatoes.
He barely made it off the ramp with bright headlights around him. And he missed a thankful screeching van at 70 miles an hour.
And he said words I can’t repeat as he swerved his big rig down. Yes, he said words even I can’t repeat as he swerved that big rig down the road.
And he side-swiped guard rails, then veered over. Tomatoes spilling on the shoulder. Took out two side mirrors and three deer. He swerved over to another lane.
It was then he hit a car and tumbled over a lane or two before he stopped.
And they smeared for a hundred yards along the highway that leads into Vacaville, California. Every one of those 50 thousand pounds of tomatoes.
Yes, there were 50 thousand pounds.
Of crushed tomatoes.
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