What the hell am I supposed to do with this thing? It’s a round green brown ball of guilt. I have thrown away so many.

I approach them piled in the cheap supermarket. I am hopeful. I am discreet. I sidle past. I am filled with stupid shame that I didn’t grow up with them. I don’t find them familiar.

Yeah, yeah, of course I’ve had it in salads. Sliced, duh. Prepared. I didn’t have to do it.

It’s not the shape, either. Hell, I can rock an egg. Boil that sucker up, and just eat the yoke, because, boiled egg white, ugh.

Above my meaningless avocado discomfort, I remember being hungry.

Growing up hungry. Kids are starving elsewhere so you better eat your thing hungry.

And apparently this thing is good for me, for all my inflammation-prone cells. I am trying not to die. So, yeah.

Shit.

Avocado.