It was a very large bowl of fruit and as I waited I looked at it wondering if it could possibly be real, to be placed here so tantalising and ostentatious, brazen yet not brass, the closest most people these days got to fruit. It must be fake. Either that or it was some obscure kind of test, the sort you heard about where the actual interview counted for nothing, just how you responded to the fruit.
I continued to stare. The fruit didn’t look back, just basked mutely in my admiration and perplexity, giving nothing away. That yellow one was a banana. You could slip on a banana skin, in the old cartoons. Ba-NA-na. I rolled the word around my mouth and tried to imagine the taste, slippery and yellow.
It seemed inefficient, on the whole, as a means of delivering vitamins. As a decoration, short-lived. Yet precious. It wasn’t as if fruit grew on trees, these days.