I ate a pea today. It came from the forest across the road. I don’t know how I got to know that it came from there. I just know.
All I remember is the crunch of the needles under my feet. The chill I felt each time I passed under a wavering shadow of the giants above. The sound of children, laughing a lifetime away.
I don’t hear that any more. The scrape of gravel distracts me as I try to understand over the din of the horn. I try to remember through a sweet acrid cloud of tobacco, but when I pass into the shadow of the looming giant above, I stop. A door, an elevator, the most panoramic view of the city today.
In my apartment, it is there. I close the freezer door and place the small green sphere in my mouth. The feel of the icy crunch between my teeth is familiar, but I don’t know how. I just know.
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