He has twenty-three oranges stacked like a pyramid in a bowl on his counter, some citric Mayan temple to the sun god of fruit.
Outside of the produce section in the grocery store, I have never seen so many oranges displayed so proudly.
But what is he going to do with twenty-three oranges?
It will be painful if he consumes that many in the time it takes mold to form. I know he doesn’t need penicillin that badly.
So, is it art? Is it a party favor? Is it buy one get twenty-two free?
And then you come in, swiping off the eye of the pyramid, juggling three oranges as if all is right with the world.
I should never take life so seriously. You think I would have learned this by now.