Airbags & Tamarind

I'm sitting in my car on the side of the road, staring at the shards of plastic and foam and the side curtain airbags which were just deployed when I hit a headline-worthy Oakland pothole. I sit in silence and awe, strangely perched somewhere between feelings of deep misfortune and utter bemusement.

I'd been roaring along interstate 580 singing along to "Be Careful With A Fool" by Johnny Winter, throwing my head around like a blind albino from Texas, marveling at the ludicrous guitar fills that always make the hairs on my ears reach for the ceiling.

It happened fast! BOOM. Crunch. Dribble drabble, womp womp, flabby flab as I push the now non-operable vehicle to the side of the road, hit the hazard lights and call for a tow.

It's about 45 minutes for the truck to arrive, and I wait by staring blankly while eating fresh tamarind I have in a bag in the passenger seat.

Tamarind - an exotic tropical fruit - is like little alien fetuses with tentacle-like membranes in crispy casings. You first remove the shell, then peel away the membrane, then pull off sections of the fruit with your teeth. It's sweet and slightly sour, and hugely popular in Mexican and Thai culinary worlds.

Inside of every tamarind bite is a little seed, shaped like a mini lima bean, shiny, and beautifully black and brown. Rather than throw them away, I tend to collect them and use them as a decorative layer atop the soil in plant pots.

Except tonight. Tonight I'm just throwing the seeds into a rubble-filled bag. I stare out the window at EASY Liquors across the street. It strikes me as ironic, or at least surreal and kind of pathetic.