The other day I woke up early on one of my days off so I could drive to a place full of old people and then drive to a small orchard and pick pears. It was strange. The first place I drove to was gigantic and full of old birthday cakes and pillows. Everybody there was one hundred years older than me. Nobody knew what was going on and I saw a forklift moving without a driver. All of the old people couldn,t hear and were mean to each other. I liked that. It,s nice to see small, wiggly old people saying mean things to other small, wiggly old people. It takes you back to a time when things were simpler and more vicious.
After sitting in an office for an hour the old people drove me and some other people to a small, rotting orchard. The owners of the orchard didn,t know that anybody was coming so they were terrified and unprepared. They said that there was no fruit to pick. I proved them wrong. I picked several fruits. Most of them were actual fruits but a few of them had turned into melted crayons and when I would go to grab them my thumb would sink inside of them and I would want to throw up. Others had turned into bees. Those were the dangerous ones.
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One of the old people kept saying that certain things gave him flashbacks of the war. I think he said this to keep us on our toes. He wanted everybody to think that he was about to freak out and start snapping necks. It worked. I think everybody picked fruit faster because of it. Maybe he was being serious. I don,t know how many pear orchards there were in the war. Maybe there were a lot. Maybe that,s what the war was about after all.
