"Good job on the avocados," Katie says as we're making dinner. Four dark green alligator skinned eggs in a dark green mesh bag.
But each proves more disappointing than the last, all revealing, beneath the firm, rough, wrinkled shell, a rotting heart of brown, mealy flesh and gloating, giant stones that take up the space that isn't dead.
"Is there anything worth salvaging?" she says, knife in one hand, holding the squishy, traitorous thing out to me with the other.