Converse sold

A few days ago, my friend Mike and I decided to walk into town to pick up a few odds and ends. We we found about half of what we needed which is an okay percentage (for instance the bakery still had fresh bread but the clinics have no cough syrup this week).
While walking back I decided to order some food at the restaurant at the top of the hill. (For dinner you have to order three hours in advance so they can buy ingredients). The owner/cook is named Calvin: a Rastafarian who was one of the original vendors to tourists in the area, but now happily lives outside of the hawker stalls (as a Godfather figure to the rest, Mike says). He also good conversation: "Rastas believe that the fruit of the tree of knowledge in the garden of Eden is weed not apples. I smoke everyday for meditation and health, and I haven't gotten malaria or a headache in 15 years."
Anyway, as we approached his thatched summer hut we saw a large cloud of smoke drifting out onto our path.
"I guess it's a camp fire? Calvin prolly knows what he is doing", Mike suggested.
Still, we walked over to check and discovered several bush fires that had crept up the hill towards his hut. Calvin and his friend said hello calmly as the beat flames with tree branches and doused them with a couple bottles of water. Joining in the effort, we twisted off a couple branches, and I selected a flame and went to work. It took a couple minutes to kill it and within ten minutes, the fire had been subdued.
"When you get a chance can I order some dinner?" I asked.
Calvin nodded and strolled back and sat down with a little notebook and wrote down my order. Then, with smoke still pouring through his hut, he lit a large joint, sat back and looked out at the lake.
Mike and I departed back to the lodge where I picked up a my pair of black high topped converse that I wanted to sell as I was tired of carrying the extra weight.
On the way to the craft market I stopped by Calvin's to see if the fire was still under control. It was, and he was sitting exactly where I had left him. He turned and eyeing my shoes asked if he could try them on.
"Sure."
He laced them up and to my surprise they fit him perfectly and looked pretty smart as well.
We agreed to trade my shoes and a razor I didn't need for 4 small paintings of his.