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2011-05-10 - 2:59 p.m. So I just now peeled an orange, the delicate fragrant alive oil exploding softly around the tip of my thumb. I peeled the orange, ripping at the skin--waxy on the outside and soft and giving underneath--and as I dug, suddenly everything felt alive. True, I hadn't peeled an orange in months, but still, how could I have forgotten? How dare I? Who am I to forget about the orange? Appreciate me, that spray of orange-oil says. I'm not a lump of soil. I'm not a banana. I'm not a thunderstorm. I'm an orange, and when my skin's oil explodes, it explodes softly, and it will make your office smell like summer, or Florida, or that time in fifth grade when you bought your mom a box of oranges so that she could make orange juice. I just now peeled an orange. 1 comments so far
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