Temptation

Mangoes, the first of the season, sit plump and shameless in trays, their smooth skin tempting a passing hand to reach down and touch them, one cut open sends the tongue into a spasm. The market is a feast for the senses. You need to walk slow and take it in, catch the smell coming ripe from the cheese, golden blocks and creamy white rounds speckled with mold hang heavy in the enclosed air of a stall. Salty, buttery, rich, the nose lingers over each. And further along, jams and preserves rainbow their colors from jars stacked high in pyramids and on a table, trays of dried and glace fruit glisten a sugary sheen in a sunlit glut to the eye. Swelling apricots, pineapple pieces and pear halves bulge beneath clear plastic wrap. It's almost overload to an old man, stall upon stall of temptation, offerings of pleasures banned by the diet police with their edicts outlawing salt, fat and sugar. On this warm, bright Saturday afternoon in October I say f… em !.