(This painting needs work, and it is a mere snapshot of it hence the glare issue in the upper right.)
When I was a kid, growing up in Tuscaloosa, Alabama, one of the worst dares you could make to another kid was to take a bite out of an unripe persimmon. Ain’t a weed smokin’ rastafarian on earth that knows cotton mouth worse than that. I highly recommend it if you are feeling bored, depressed, or unlucky. A bite of an early persimmon from the variety I grew up around will quickly make you forget your woes and in some cases can reverse them permanently.
I recently bought this branch of persimmons at the farmer’s market. I hear that they are really sweet when they’re ripe. No-ho-ho. Don’t even THINK about getting me to taste one. Not now that I have a conditioned response of desalivation just looking at the damn things. My mouth was a veritable prune by the time I finished this painting thanks to that brat Jimmy Searcy when I was ten years old.
He also peed in my cantine a few years later when I camped out with some friends and left the site to look for firewood. To this day I can’t drink out of anything that resembles a cantine. In fact, I can’t pee in one either. Funny how that works.