By K. Rose Dallimore
Just as morning begins to drip from the speakers in the kitchen, I drop the crate onto the marble counter. The top glides open, revealing twelve fruits in a neat stack. I pick one up. No pores, no bruises. Clementines have been smooth for three years now. The average person prefers the experience of glossy, perfectly spherical fruit. I place it in the peeler. After a mechanical growl, twelve pithless slices slide onto my plate—deveined and exposed like flayed muscles. I pop one into my mouth. The best clementine I’ve ever tasted. I’m not surprised. Things improve all the time.
A beautifully-written, well-honed piece about how our food is being engineered. It expresses perfectly the discomfort I feel about that, while, with misgivings, enjoying the results.
Thank you. This is a big issue that needs to be talked about.
Lovely. A perfect example of sub text.
Beautifully succinct. Good writing. Well expressed.