Serial Killer
The crisp air outside turned his cheeks and nose a healthy rose color. He loaded a harvest of various vegetables from his garden into the back of an old rusting pickup truck.
The sun had not yet come up, and the road was deserted as he headed towards the farmer’s market. He drank some hot black tea as he drove in silence. Watching the headlights on the black paved two way road made him feel at ease.
Being on the run always made him feel safer. It was time to leave this wooded paradise and find a new place to roam, for a while.
He pulled into the farmer’s market and drove to his rented stall. In an hour the sun would rise. In the near distance a rooster crowed to call the sun out of hiding.
He pulled out wooden bushel after bushel, and set them on the stands. Occasionally he would have to brush the packing straw off his baby blue, cord knit sweater.
People trusted men who wore passive colors, they were more likely to engage in conversation with them. He had a number of pastel colors in his closet. He had sweaters and button up cotton shirts in blue, green, yellow, and brown. Never anything pink or purple. He stuck with solid colors. Patterns and logos tend to distract attention. He preferred to keep control of their attention.
A large man of mixed heritage walked towards the stand. His large gut preceded him everywhere he went announcing, ‘Give this man a beer!’. “Joe!” the man cheerfully called out and rested his pot belly against the front counter.
Joe turned and looked at the only person he had befriended at the market in the five years he had been there. A lag-about farmer who used pesticides but not genetically modified seeds. “John.”, he responded politely and continued to unload.
“So you really moving out of here, still? You haven’t changed your mind?” John looked at the pristine produce adorning the stalls. It looked better than his own harvest, he was always jealous of Joe.
Joe had all the time in the world to harvest. To grow “Organic” crops. He could go out there every day at his leisure and pick weeds out by hand. Waking up at the crack of dawn never seemed to be an issue with his friend. John was jealous of the discipline Joe seemed to have in every aspect of his life. All but one. Joe didn’t have what John had, and that was a large family with five kids.
John, his wife, and their two teenage children all had jobs to support the family business. Everyone worked the farm, even the five year old helped plant. It was hard back breaking work, and after a part time job it was near impossible. That was life, they struggled, but they got by.
“I have to fix up the homestead before I can sell it to anybody.” Joe set the last of his bounty out. “It shouldn’t be a problem.”
John looked longingly at the vegetables. “You know, they love your produce more than the rest of us. Don’t you feel a responsibility to your customers? I mean you could really make a killing here and expand.”
Joe chuckled slightly. “I’ve told you how I do everything, you can do this just as well as I can. Teach little Sasha how to pull weeds instead of spray poison.” He sat down in his comfortable chair behind the counter. “You’ll find you are able to stay home too, and tend the farm. Like nature intended. People are willing to pay for the extra time and care you put into the produce. I shouldn’t have to convince you, old friend.” he almost scolded. “I have shown you. Over the past three years my prices doubled because my produce contains essential vitamins and nutrients. You’ve tasted my tomatoes! You can’t argue with me. My way brings out flavors and sweetness that nature intended those vegetables to have.” He paused for a second. “That’s why people flock to my stand, I sell out, and get to go home before the heat of the afternoon. Trust me, I have shown you the golden path to success. You have only to travel it.” Joe took a sip of his hot tea.