Clean Peel

I ducked back inside through the screen door to dodge the midday glare and hauled myself up the barstool onto the kitchen counter. Sitting right in a heavy ceramic bowl was a giant red Gala apple, polished so slick it showed my reflection. Right on the curve was one of those tiny oval produce stickers practically daring me to touch it. I hopped onto the rim, dug my thumbnail under the sticky edge, and peeled it clean in one smooth pull without ripping a corner. I slapped the tiny badge right onto the front of the bowl like a trophy, then leaned back against the cool, waxy apple to catch my breath. Fast fingers, zero residue. Five by five.