so, i found this peach, in a plastic bag, in the walk-in, at my work, couldn’t believe it, it was perfect, a perfect peach, mind you, this is the end of September, so, you know, stone fruit is on the fade, but, i put it in my apron and showed it off, the thing, you see, rather, the fetish, i have regarding peaches, is in how to eat them, properly, you see, you have to take off your shirt, preferably, you’ve got a good amount of hair going on, long hair, beards, chest hair, what have you, the idea is, you have to eat it upright, maybe in a trance, maybe you’re watching the sun go down and your make-believe harvest is finally starting to grow, maybe you vacuumed the house listening to Fleetwood Mac, maybe you finally figured out your mom’s damned risotto recipe, i don’t know, but, here you are, you and the peach, shit, you earned it, right? anyways, the fetish is about consuming the peach in its full glory, its juicy drip-ness all over your face, neck, chest, hands, whatever, it doesn’t matter, fuck napkins. get dirty. but, the thing is, i didn’t know it was a last chance peach, ’til i brought it out with my stuff after work, and my boss noticed and was like, what you got there? oh, you found the last lonely peach? and i was like yeah. um. i just saw it on its lonesome. and boss was like. this is a last chance peach. they call it that for a reason. all the while, i’m hating my job, thinking quitting thoughts, got interviews in the coming weeks, even head chef quit this week, days ago, i been there six months, thinking i need a raise, he takes the peach, and replaces it with a bruised white peach or two, thanks for me my hard work, you not gonna have a beer? he asks.