The Blackeye Peas

I made a friend. His name is Jeff. We met in the bean isle at Kroger–a place I never thought I would be.

I am holding a bag of lentils, contemplating what a lentil is when Jeff turns to me and asks, "You know what black peas are?" 

I guess I looked like a person who knows her way around the bean aisle. Which I decided to take as a compliment. 

"Yea, they're a band. Fergie's in it. She's pretty good. Why do you ask?"

I should mention that Jeff is roughly 45 years old, in need of a shave and a facial, and dressed in what looks to be Lee's jeans and a t-shirt that was once white. Jeff does not know what a Fergie is, and now he's even more confused than when he started. 

"Naw, I think it's a bean er sunthin'. Ah'm s'posed to be making this stew thing with 'em."

"OH. Black peas...you mean blackeye peas?"

"Yeah, that's it."

I then help Jeff find the blackeye peas. We find the blackeye peas. He stares at the bag for a few seconds, void of expression.

"I don't think I'm gon' like these."

"I don't think i'd like 'em either."

We purse our lips in solidarity of the other's situation. Best friends.