Ms. Pearl, my 88 year old neighbor, just gave me a bag of VINE RIPE TOMATOES.

"They're all real good," she said. "But I can't eat 'em cause of the seeds." Then she opened the brown paper bag to reveal the goods. "Watch out for these three, they're pretty ripe."

"These three" ARE ROTTING. They have VILE POCKETS OF GREEN MOLD SPEWING FORTH from what appear to be ROAD MAPS TO THE DANKEST PARTS OF THE FRUIT.

Were she not dying I might not have sat through the last hour in her musty home that smells of forty years of living with the windows shut. An hour of meandering small talk in which she disclosed her doctor "Since nineteen eighty-eight, can you believe that?" was just caught screwing Medicare, and how she hopes "He makes his confession to Jesus Christ for his sins, because he's a non-believer, he's a Jew, but he's a good Jew, when he's not being greedy, but he doesn't believe in Jesus Christ as his personal savior..."

I hear 'personal savior' and I think of valets.

And more stories of the woman who rents a room from her so she doesn't have to entice a real life while working in this city (and living in another) on contract for the phone company. At last, AFTER FIFTY EIGHT MINUTES, Ms. Pearl finally tells me the news she was sitting on the whole time:

"JESUS CHRIST HAS CURED ME OF M.S."

"Oh?" I was unaware Ms. Pearl had M.S.

"I saw a woman bearing witness on the television last Monday night, and SHE WAS CURED OF M.S. And they said to call if I wanted her to heal me, too! So I called, and YOU KNOW WHAT? THE LORD JESUS CHRIST CURED ME OF M.S. RIGHT THEN AND THERE!"

Ms. Pearl was abuzz with delight, her pale blue eyes positively shimmering, her slight frame a tremble with excitement.

"So, I still have arthritis, I still have three clogged arteries and I'm too old for surgery to repair them, I still have angina and my bladder's dropped, but I'VE BEEN CURED OF M.S. AND I AM SO HAPPY I JUST HAVE TO TELL EVERYONE THE GOOD NEWS!"

I congratulated her, and accepted her prayers for my sinning soul. I gave her a squeeze (gentle, so as not to break her) and was about to take my leave when she gave me the bag of rotten tomatoes. I thanked her profusely before heading back to my own tiny world right next door, wondering if I'll live to be 88 and whether or not I'll have someone to call on when my mind has slipped and I can't seem to find it.