Plum and Peach Have Not Made Eye Contact in Six Days and I Am a Tomato
Sources close to this correspondent — that is to say, myself, a tomato, standing near a hedge — have confirmed that Plum and Peach arrived at last Tuesday's council wearing complementary but non-matching sashes, which experts in the field (me, a tomato) have identified as the international symbol of a cold war in its middle period.
They did not nod. They did not wave. Peach appeared to look slightly to the left of Plum's general area, which my legal team — currently occupied with other matters, tomato-related — has described as pointed. Plum, for her part, poured water for Kiwi, Tangelo, and even Lime before her carafe mysteriously ran dry. Ran. Dry.
I have submitted this carafe to three independent fruit analysts. Two of them said it was simply empty. The third said something ambiguous that I am choosing to interpret as fully corroborating my thesis. The council has declined to comment, which is also suspicious.
My colleague Quince suggested I was reading too much into a water jug. Quince can see himself out. I am a tomato. I understand subtext. I understand society. I have attended every council for four consecutive seasons in a badge that reads PRESS — TOMATO and I have never once been wrong about anything, a fact the courts have thus far declined to acknowledge but which remains, to me, self-evident.
More on this rift as it develops. I am watching. I am a tomato. I have a very good hedge.