About the work

The plum sat on the plate because it had fallen from a tree and was bruised. He’d found it on the pavement outside the shop, a gift from some unseen branch overhanging a garden wall, and carried it inside without thinking. It felt heavy in his hand, almost like a stone, the way some fruit does just before it ripens too far. He’d meant to eat it, but the shop got busy, then the delivery arrived, and by the time he looked again, the condensation had formed, making it seem colder than it was. He never knew if it was the shop's fridge or the heat of the alley that drew the dew from the air like that.