Pret's Fruit Cup
I prod the strawberry with my fork. It's actually half of a strawberry, sliced in twain by some machine at some indeterminate time ago. The plastic cup it came in promised "organic" and "fresh daily", although I figure companies like Pret probably have redefined "daily" in terms of elephant years or something. The bottom tip of the strawberry's red flesh is a bit mushy, but also sweeter than the rest of it. I pause, briefly considering if this strawberry's other half is in another fruit cup somewhere. Did I partake in deporting a strawberry from it's better half? Cause this half was very mediocre.
There's blueberries too. And some grapes, although grapes are the definition of filler in fruit cups. No one's asking for a grape cup, cause that just makes you seem weird, like some bizarre alcoholic who needs alcohol before it's fermented. The grapes are fine, just like the strawberry half. This is like my AP Language essays that came back with C+ on the top criticizing me for my lack of proper structure, or my lack of diction, or, the worst of them all, my lack of theme. What the hell, if you read through my entire essay about some crisis and you couldn't figure out the theme it's not my fault, perhaps you're just too dumb.
Back to the fruit cup. The blueberries are astoundingly fresh, like they've just been picked. Maybe Pret does use human time for it's "daily". One has to gaze in awe at the sheer variation of quality within a single fruit cup, like a world unto itself.
In the end, it all disappears into my gullet anyways. It was a goddamn eight dollar fruit cup, because New York brain damage everything is hideously overpriced. Whatever, I'll be back in a month once the shame of the eight dollar fruit cup subsides.