The Honest Boy

On the busiest corner of Houston Street, under the giant DKNY mural is a small shack,
topped with unreadable faded blue letters in a crude dimensionsional perspective that
spell out the name "The Honest Boy."

It took me a long time to decipher the type, but I was a devoted fan of the stand.
Through freezing winters and oppressive summers, heaps of mangoes, lemons and limes,
and bags of red peppers and yellow grapefruit lent a festive air to this impossible corner.
The owners were friendly and made a small strip of wasteland into a cheerful oasis.

When the City decided to evict The Honest Boy and build an electrical substation,
I realized the depth of feeling this shack evoked in the people that passed by.
Cards, letters and signs of support appeared, and nearby on the white wall of the
Gaseteria, someone made a naive but colorful mural that said: "Fruta si! Cancer no!
It wasn't fear of ELF radiation, that provoked people, it was the thought of losing
The Honest Boy. As a rebuke to the cynics, the fruit stand supporters have prevailed,
and this corner retains its tropical backdrop of bananas and chilis.

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