apple on the branch, it's the season, so ripe and full, time for apple cinnamon doughnuts and cider, sweet cider, and orchard going, green and red, granny smith and red delicious and all those other, sweet, full, round apples that taste so good, crisp and, and, well, what happens if you don't get to pick any apples, where the only apples you see are behind glass doors or display cases, apples so good they don't need a snake to talk them up, apples that talk themselves, apples, who am i kidding, what am i pretending to be? it'd be better if i was allergic to apples, that apples made me deathly ill, where only a shot of epinephrine would do me any good, but apples? too sweet.