Another Moment Longer

During my shuttle ride home from the airport, the driver, a focused yet jovial man, handed three pieces of fruit to the valet concierge at the Bonaventure.

An orange, mango and lime were my best guesses in the darkness, going by shape; the driver took care of his suitcase duties, wished the passenger a good trip, and then glided fast around to the front of his blue van, so fast I didn't even make him turning the van's corner, picking fruit from the front passenger seat and handing three pieces to the concierge one at a time, the concierge turning one then another and the other over in his hands.

The concierge received the driver warmly, the two commenting on the produce, immune to the departing passenger who, still gathering himself on the sidewalk, complained of the same cliche banalities people often complain of on cue upon arriving in the City of Angels (or even in the conversational vicinity).

The driver and concierge waved goodbye to him, making no rebuttal, then looked at the three pieces of fruit again, now in the concierge's hands, laughing in the darkness another moment longer.