It Comes With Pears

(Kofi and Soraya are eating lunch on the loading dock behind the bike shop in Portland.)

Soraya: So which one is it? The farm or the studio?

Kofi: My uncle's farm. Two months, out near Hood River.

Soraya: You're joking.

Kofi: Why would I be joking?

Soraya: Because the other one is a photography internship. That's the thing you've wanted since you were sixteen.

Kofi: It's an internship that doesn't pay.

Soraya: Most of them don't. That's the deal. You work for free, and you get the studio's name on your website.

Kofi: Right. And I pay my rent with the name.

Soraya: You could do the internship and keep a couple of shifts here.

Kofi: I asked. They want five days a week, nine to six, and they're forty minutes away.

Soraya: Fine, so it's harder. It's still the job that leads somewhere.

Kofi: Is it? My cousin did that studio last summer. Do you know what she photographed? Nothing. She labeled files and carried lights up three flights of stairs.

Soraya: She got a reference out of it, though.

Kofi: She got a reference. She also got a bad back.

(Soraya eats for a while without saying anything.)

Soraya: OK, but the farm. You'd be picking pears for eight weeks.

Kofi: Eighteen dollars an hour, and we finish at three.

Soraya: At three.

Kofi: Which leaves five hours of daylight. Have you seen that valley in August?

(Soraya puts her sandwich down.)

Soraya: So you're taking the photography job.

Kofi: I'm taking the photography job. It just comes with pears.