"I think I am about ready to go to that Farm with you."
"No shit," Greg grinned.
"About ready," Fernando emphasized.
The two walked over to greet their favorite workers. One, a young Haitian named Emmanuel, was smiling broadly, irrepressibly. He was always smiling. Fernando asked him, "How do you put up with it?"
"What choice do we have?" he asked earnestly. "At least my family has food on the table. So many do not."
"Are there still the food riots?" Lopez continued. He was exploring mainland conditions for a reason. Greg had gotten him thinking.
"Sure, some; but not like before. Not whole cities. People wore themselves out with that, or died. But there are still desperate people. Food and water stay scarce for those with nothing to barter. I am lucky to be on the transit list. I love the Sanibel!" Emmanuel smiles bigger than ever.
"What about the cavity searches?" asked Greg. "That's just wrong! It reminds me of South African diamond miners."
"Oh, they don't do that now. They speed things up with the body scanners like they have at all of the airports. It's much better now!" said Emmanuel.
"I am glad to hear that," said Greg Johnston. "Let's go have a good day's work in paradise."
"I heard that!" said Emmanuel, mimicking the local dialect and laughing.
Fernando drove and Greg rode shotgun. Emmanuel and three others rode in the back of the Toyota pickup truck as they drove west-northwest along Periwinkle. Greg turns to his friend: "So, are you really thinking about going to the Farm with me if I go?"
"What do you mean, 'if you go'?" Fernando asked. "Not a day goes by that you don't bring up the Farm. It's the Farm this and the Farm that."
"So, are you?" Greg persisted.
"Yes, compaņero, I am really thinking about going to the Farm with you if you go."
"Let's do this!" Greg pushed for the next level.
"What's your hurry?"
"Call it a feeling."
"We can't just leave. The trip might get dangerous."
"Tell me about it!"
