I go pick a pint of peaches but stop to briefly consider: they all look alike to me, but is it possible one is “best”?
“They’re all hard as rocks,” the guy running the market says matter-of-factly.
“Ah,” I reply knowingly, “dinosaur eggs.”
“It makes it so they transport well,” he says, fixing me with a look as if to suggest that my flippancy is very much frowned upon.
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