It happened on a Thursday night.
A rainy night, when the windshield wipers were having a time of it.
Sky was all sorts of messed up too, with a few peeks at pink and mauve layers, then darkness above and below.
It was rain that spit and sputtered, inconsistent and alarming. A bucket and a deluge, one moment – a mist and a fog, the next.
On this tumultuous evening, the bright fluorescence of the local supermarket was like a beacon in the night.
That was a cruel bait and switch, as I walked into the massacre of blueberries you see here. {Exhibit A for future courtroom drama.}
Now, most people who know me know that I’m neither partial to nor particularly fond of blueberries – that doesn’t mean I believe in their murder. Despite what the world would have you think, there are subtleties and nuances still in existence. We need not operate in extremes or absolutes – that shit is for small, unthinking minds.
So to take a bunch of blueberries out like that, leaving them for dead – well, that takes a colder heart than I could ever carry.
It takes all kinds.
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