The yellow tomato is ripe, almost overripe, despite (or perhaps because of) it's having been in the fridge for over a week, and it stands out against the white cutting board like a juicy miniature sun.
The knife I pick up to cut it, a big kitchen knife with the standard triangular blade, just rests on it, and even my sawing motion only puts a dent in the skin without actually biting into it.
I pick a smaller blade, a paring knife with a wicked point, and it immediately slices into the meat of the tomato, and suddenly I'm overwhelmed with this sense of having been here before, listening to Katie speak.
I interrupt her to tell her about my feeling, and she says what I always say, which is, "That means you're on the right path."
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