The truck went over a bounce, enough to motivate a move from the edge seat to the floor. With a slip of pride the side seat is given up. Losing pride that comes with balancing oneself over bumps and inconsistent speed on a precarious truck ledge. Slipped down to rip at sugar cane cut into baton sizes for teeth attack. Batons passed around the truck bed, attacked. With skill, teeth peel back dusty dirty skin shells with grace and without, to the fiber juice tubes, that can be squeezed between molars and incisors and combos of teeth eager to provide tongue mouth lips cool or maybe just luke warm juice that filters out.
Batons are stripped down to fiber as truck beds whir past sugar cane resting on structures yet to be stripped and chewed and that can still delightfully wave their frilly flirty green tops with Malawian winds. Dust gently blows off sugar sticks and hands until the second round where everything sticks to everything and juice runs down chins to hands that now stuck with dust, swipe at jeans and mouth for futile attempts to be clean. Vigorous teeth rip ignoring the new thin mud of hands and the ever-increasing sticking mud on the batonpeiceofcanestick.
Fiber chunks hit road with unexpectedly graceful dust clouds after the juice is sucked, squeezed, and juiced out to be propelled out of mouth and truck. Chunk after chunk flies out and hits ground as teeth tear rip and tear again to get at the thin juice trickles and pools.
To get at juice that is that much more good as it comes after skin shell peel, tear, and a fiber squeeze with muddust hands and another bump and bump, and all pieces are thrown out the side of the truck and they bounce and bounce up with sky backdrops and mountain back drops mixed with clouds, village, groceries, bottles, boxes, and buyers of sugar cane who will tear and rip and rip and tear.
