The plum was soft. I had it in my hand. The more I had the plum in my hand, the warmer it got. I had the plum in my hand when we looked for parking. She drove because the city was small and medieval. I could not park in it. We were going to the park near the cemetery. It wasn’t a cemetery any more. It had been an aboveground cemetery, but they took all the bodies out, so now all that was left was the structure that had held all the bodies. It looked like the shell for a building. People who visited the city asked what it was.
“Where are the bodies now?” I do not know where they are. Every other year, though, it’s very odd because a coffin will be back in its place. No one knows how it gets there. Coffins could be vehicles. We thought they were receptacles, but they are vehicles, apparently.
We found a spot not too far away from the cemetery, and she parallel parked fantastically. We laughed that, after she parked, we looked at the space on either side of the car, and the spaces were just longer than my hand. She wanted to park and leave a space that was less than my hand.
I still had a plum in my hand from the market. She had eaten her plum, and it was bothering her that I had not yet eaten my plum. “Why don’t you eat your plum?” At the market, the area where you could buy fish was special to me. The floor was concrete and cold. The walls were white tile. On all the scales for weighing fish, there were the scales of fish. You could see fishmongers bleed if they cut themselves. You could see fish bleed. I often forgot that fish bleed, that they have blood in them, so it was good to go to the market and see them bleed. Whenever we visited the market, I was afraid she’d steal one of those sharp fish knives, hide it, and then place a deep cut in me. I’d pinch it together with my thumb and pointer, which is something that would do very little for me.