Ebony and Ivory and Cilantro and Onions

I was eating cuatro tacos de fajitas at my favorite taco truck. Two white contractors stepped up and ordered. While they waited, a jittery young black guy on some sort of potent drugs shuffled over, panhaddled seventy-five cents off one them, and ordered "one beef taco... yeah give me that cilantro and cebolla too".

Jittery Black Guy (to the gruff but generous contractor): It's good shit, but that green stuff is hot. It's jalapenos and onions and shit. It's good they got these places now. Gotta have 'em for the big Hispanic population.

White Contractor: Shit... the big white population. We like it too.

Jittery Black Guy: Yeah, black too... we like it.

White Contractor: It don't matter as long as it's good.

Everybody: Yep... yep... yep...

It was a beautiful moment... and shit.

Tangential coda:

A security guard pulled up in a neighborhood patrol car. (Apparently, they like tacos too.) Jittery Black Guy piped up again, "Here comes the rent-a-cop. I call cops 'five-o'. I call those guys 'two-point-five'." It got a big laugh.*

* Pretty sophisticated mathematical humor for a panhandling drug-and-taco addict, if you ask me. But I tell you, those tacos—they're good for the brain.