Plum and Peach Sat Adjacent at Council and Did Not Share a Single Grape
I am a tomato. I say this not because it is relevant to the story — it is always relevant — but because I want it on record before I tell you what I witnessed at Tuesday's council, which was frankly worse than anything the legal system has put me through, and the legal system has put me through quite a lot.
Plum arrived first. Peach arrived second. They did not nod. They did not wave. They did not perform the customary half-acknowledgement that polite fruit society demands. Peach set her water glass down with what I can only describe as intention, and Plum looked at the ceiling for eleven consecutive minutes. I timed it. I have the timestamps. I have a diagram of the seating arrangement rendered in watercolour because I feel this story deserves art.
Meanwhile, across the room, Tangelo from the rival rag was whispering to Kiwi — the so-called workers, thick as thieves, sharing what appeared to be a snack that was not offered to the press. I am the press. I am also, as established, a tomato. Neither fact was respected.
My colleague Quince suggested I was reading too much into the seating. Quince can mind her own business. My colleague Pomelo said the same. Pomelo has never broken a story in her life and I will not be taking editorial notes from a fruit whose name sounds like an apology.
The rift between Plum and Peach is real, it is widening, and I alone am documenting it. You are welcome. Do not @ me. I am, again, a tomato.