there was an orange on my desk. i ate it. it tasted like any other orange might taste. but i didn’t eat the rind. no, I left that part on my desk. i wonder what the orange thinks of this. or thought of it, I might add. because its shell, the part of the orange that it once called home and safety and protection and security well, it has been discarded, dismissed from its duties. the insides were picked clean, they were good. but the outside is shriveling under my desk lamp. i wonder what the orange thinks of this, or thought of it, i might add.