One time I was at an upstate apple orchard where I struck up a conversation with a man from Kentucky. I've never been to the "Ol' KC" so I asked him what it was like. "Well" He thought for a second. "You're taking too long" I said. That's the problem with Kentuckens, they think the world owes them something. I then brandished my 100% authentic Japanese Samurai sword I bought that week from the home shopping network. "welcome to New York" I said in a gruff voice as I did a karate twirl and cut a limb off an old apple tree beside us. The branch fell to the ground along with a couple ripe apples. "How you like them apples"? I asked rhetorically.
By this time the impressed man from Kentucky was well on his way to the front entrance. He looked like he was in a hurry, like he was racing in the Kentucky derby. I'm guessing he was eager to tell his wife, or whoever, all about the awesome man he just met.
I looked down at the slain apples on their deathbed of autumn leaves. A perfect still-life of golden yellows and cinnamon reds as if arranged for an Old Master painting. Then I noticed a fucking worm in one of the apples. Disgusting. I quickly looked around and saw a bird overhead. I pointed to the worm for him to eat. I waved my hands high and shouted out "worm here!". Despite my vigorous effort to grease the food chain, so to speak, the bird flew off. Maybe he saw a bigger, juicier worm in another apple over yonder.
Just one of many stories from "the big apple".
