A Crisp Snap

Leaving the cafe patio behind, I turned down a quiet service lane behind the market stalls to avoid the midday crowd. Tucked into the shade was an overturned wooden delivery crate, surprisingly free of debris. I climbed onto the slatted pine surface and leaned against the brick alley wall, intending to just rest my feet. Right beside my elbow sat a solitary purple wax plum, forgotten from some morning delivery crate. I rolled it across the timber with one plush palm, testing the firm, smooth skin under my thumb. It had survived the bustle without a single bruise. In the quiet shade, having a clean perch and five undisturbed minutes turned out to be all the break I needed.