A Red Apple

I chose a red apple among maroon grapes and green pears and yelowish-green bananas and red nectarines. I pick up only one red apple that fit in my small hand. It will be my choice for breakfast instead of a cruncy chocolate roll I used to buy at Shadeau Breads. I need this red apple to begin my day.

"Only one?" the old fat big white guy said to me.
"Yes, please."
"Nice purse," The older guy who is thinner who is standing at the right of the old fat big white guy said.
"Yes, I have to carry this big bag everyday," I noted while getting a dollar to pay for my apple. The fat big white guy put the apple in a small brown paper bag.

This red apple is amazing. It is very ripe, with healthy and shinny skin, with a little light color as if shredded and painted to it. The skin is soft but firm with no scar at all. I run water on the sink on to it after I peel the plastic like paper that shows the mark. The running water washed away any pesticide or chemical that I assumed used to plant the apple tree. It washed away any excessive bacteria I don't need for my body.

I bite it once I can taste water coming out of the apple so fresh and cruncy and sweet. Thank God for creating apple, I said in my mind.I wanted to bite again. And again. And again. Until I didn't realize I ate it like there is nothing more in the world I could eat.