As boxes of peaches, apples, and other varieties of round fruit roll out the back of trucks, they adjust themselves in the street crevices. This is where the lowest forms of beings (humans and rats) can enjoy a meal. Yet even these vile creatures have their limits, leaving the sun to deal with the discarded entrails. The heat makes life unbearable and putrid. Despite the unbearable stench, there is an exclusivity that is radiated by this disgusting atmosphere. Fermented and withered. I gently scoop the concoction of decomposition into my pockets – unaware of the fact it’s seeping through my linen trousers. But this isn’t enough for me. I crawl into a box of cherries and roll my body up. Every pothole pushes my body against the delicate produce, forcing the red juice to gush everywhere. If I could swim, I would escape this box; but in my performative state, I remain curled up and soaked in sweetness. It’s not until the truck violently brakes to avoid hitting a child that I am flung into the road. Street sweepers move me into the gutter. I lay there, sticky with sweat and fructose. Approachable to none; only flies crawl across my face, seeking refuge in my eyelids and solace in my tears of happiness.