Stealing the Peach

I was in a small store in Fukuoka.  It sold organic products and local delicacies and specialties.

I was walking the aisles when, wafted by the breeze of a light air conditioner, and presumably my own movement, came this tropical scent.  It was just perceptible, a smell of coconut, an evocative, sweet aroma.

And also agonizingly transient.  It was there, and disappeared as soon as I sniffed again.

I stopped in my tracks and tried to figure out what it was.  I picked up the bottles of olive oil and local sweets.  Sniffing, it was there, and then not there again.

It smelled like strawberry fields, like a pina colada, like something both floral, fresh, new.

I turned around.

I saw these.

2017-07-14 12.19.51.jpg

Unsure, I leaned down to test the scent.  It was it.  Luscious, sweet peaches that smelled so good, smelled of the happiness of childhood, smelled plump and like spring.

These were 3 dollar peaches, but I should have stocked up on more.

We took it outside to eat, and the first bite, as I punctured the thin skin, was just of juice.  These peaches are juice, in peach form.

The juice burst all over my shirt and pants and I didn’t care, because most of it exploded down my throat in the most satisfying and delicious way to communicate laying in a spring meadow of flowers under a blue sky under a gentle breeze with a lover, exploding head sensation I’ve ever felt from a fruit.

I vacuum-slurped the whole thing and at points was chewing it with the roof of my mouth because these delicacies were so soft, these flowers of Japan.

Why are these not more well-known?  Why are they not being sold in every supermarket in every corner of the world?  Why is Amazon not drop-shipping these from the sky like manna?

Of the many pictures I took, the one above is my favorite.

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