Hey Americayeet! For you. His offering, the dangerous oval in water color shades of reds and purples, fits perfectly between weathered fingers. Deftly, he slices the ends. Splits the skin and peels away the offending prickly layer. Inside the seedy fruit is soft, brilliant. As he places it in my hand, I feel the callouses on his. See the deep brown. Feel the warmth. For you, eh, because you are a sabra.