It was another Sunday morning at the farmer's market. The farmers unloaded from their hefty trucks of plump strawberries and peaches laid pompously in their carriage of cardboard boxes. The farmers were careful of the boxes of ruby and amber gems still warmed from the sun. As delicately as they could with their rough sausage fingers, they placed the sunlit gems on their stands. Some customers strolled by like window shoppers and other customers came under the tent for a sample. One of the farmers took a fat strawberry and chopped it in half with a small paring knife. The strawberry’ shiny smooth surface interrupted by bumps of seeds split and the inside of the berry was the brightest of reds with veins of pale pink interwoven within the piercing red. The sweet juices glistened and dripped ever so pretentiously, mocking the salty sweat dripping from the farmer's faded cap. Some came for the blushing peaches who wore a luxurious coat of fur. The farmer chopped the peach in half, revealing the dry grotesque pit. Embarrassed, the peach blushed even more. Encircling the pit was a vine of sunset pink, making a gradient toward a smooth bone white.