Apple

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A bowl of green granny apples sat on her table, each a shifting shade the colour of things unripened. I found myself with the most unusual desire to grab one and bite into it, feeling my teeth coming down hard on the fruit, gnashing down at the sour sweetness. It didn't seem fair that she should have a bowl of beautiful fruit in her place of business, where they seemed just out of reach to a stranger. My body sunk into the soft Italian, chocolate leather armchairs. I watched the rays of afternoon sun settle upon bowl, shadowed, untouched. It took a moment before I realized she had entered the room.
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