A Worker at the Rival Rag Muttered Something Under Her Breath and I, a Tomato, Lip-Read the Whole Thing
I will not be identifying my source. My source is my own eyes, which are tomato eyes, belonging to a tomato, which is what I am. I was present. I was partially obscured by a fern. The fern is not relevant.
What is relevant is that Cherry — Cherry of factjuice.com, Cherry of the so-called workers, Cherry of the rival rag's notoriously smug soft-fruit desk — leaned toward Coco at approximately 2:14 in the afternoon and said, and I am quoting verbatim from my own lip-read memory, "I just think it's a persimmon." She did not elaborate. She did not need to. The implication was enormous.
I have sent a formal letter of inquiry. I have not received a response. Quince says I am "catastrophizing" and that Cherry was probably discussing a recipe. Quince is wrong and also has never won a court case either, so we are not taking notes from Quince today.
For the record — and I am placing this in the record — I am a tomato. This has been disputed eleven times in civil proceedings and I maintain that the legal system has a well-documented bias against tomatoes, particularly ones doing investigative society journalism from behind ferns. I will be filing again in the spring.
Cherry wore a very glossy finish to council, by the way. I noted it. I am noting it again here. Draw your own conclusions. I have drawn mine, and mine are devastating.