SHE WHEELS IN A RUSTY old road bike, wearing mud-caked boots and baggy grass-stained jeans. Her front tire is flat. “Here’s the deal,” she says to a tall, lanky bike mechanic, “I have a flat, but I’m just coming back from the farm so I don’t have any money. So I can either trade goods or come back and pay later.” She flicks her hair out of her face and gives a comfortably resigned shrug.
“Either one,” says the mechanic, “whatever.”
“Really? Great!” she answers.
The mechanic eyes a box full of produce strapped to her bike. “Sweet, are those leeks?”