Spray Painted Bananas

Chapter 9

The corner shop is called ‘Rose’s Food and Wine Market’ and is run by a man who looks as far from a Rose as you can possibly get. He’s a thin, black man with course stubble and an eye patch. A deep scar continues beneath the patch and runs down his cheek, deep and white like lightening. He runs the shop with an army of young men who enjoy asking for ID’s. They hand over the booze regardless of the person’s age after they’ve had a good laugh at their photo.

When I arrive there’s a group of them sitting with their friends on the curb outside, faces hidden under dark hoods. A mobile phone in a pint glass blares out a tinny accompaniment to their low mutters. I sober up as I cross the road. A little voice tells me to go home but I charge on.

I walk around the shop once, half hoping to find spray paint sitting comfortably in between the baked beans and tins of tuna. At the counter, one-eyed Rose is looking at me suspiciously.

‘What you looking for?’ he barks.

‘Spray paint?’

‘Wha’?

My finger presses down on an imaginary nozzle and I wave my arm in the air.

‘Spray paint.’

‘For graffiti?’

‘God no, for bananas, but yeah, it's the same sort of paint...’

His one eye narrows. ‘You police?’

I burst out laughing but shut up quickly when I see the rage in his eye. I can imagine it’s only a small glimpse of what he’s capable of feeling.

‘No, no, I’m just an artist working on a project.’

He softens and the good side of his face smiles.

‘Why didn’t you say so? What colour you want?’

‘What colour do you have?’

‘What colour you want?’

‘Blue?’

‘No blue.’

‘Okay... red?’

He shakes his head.

‘Green?’

‘Why you want green?’

‘I don’t really.’

I’m starting to feel tired. The alcohol is losing its hold on me and I’m feeling a pull towards my bed. Maybe I’ll do it in the morning.

‘Oh... never mind... just leave it.’

‘Wait! Don’t go!’