Schwartz, an elderly man, is resting peacefully on the porch of his small hotel outside Boca when he sees a cloud of dust up the road. He walks out to see who could be approaching: It is a Southern farmer with a wagon.
“Good afternoon,” says Schwartz.
“Afternoon,” says the farmer.
“Where you headed?” asks Schwartz.
“Town.”
“What do you have in the wagon?”
“Manure.”
“Manure, eh? What do you do with it?”
“I spread it over the fruit.”
“Huh,” says Schwartz, “you should come over here for lunch someday. We use sour cream.”