“Another Saturday morning,” sighed the Avocado (for that was his name, a rather philosophical fruit), perched precariously on the edge of the kitchen counter. “The city still sleeps, dreaming of… well, probably more practical things than philosophical avocados.”
Beside him, a plump Mango, still slightly dewy from its morning wash, chuckled. “Practical? My dear Avocado, you spend too much time with the humans and their relentless pursuit of ‘efficiency.’ Saturday mornings are for languor, for the slow unfurling of flavor, for the gentle hum of anticipation.”
A sizzling sound erupted from the stove, followed by the cheerful clatter of pans. “Speak for yourselves, you two!” chirped the Scrambled Eggs, their golden hue already bright. “We’re already hard at work, the unsung heroes of this lazy morning. Fueling dreams, you know!”
As the human finished their simple yet satisfying breakfast, a sense of calm settled over them. The city outside might be stirring, but here, in the quiet aftermath of the morning ritual, there was a sense of peace, of contentment. The flavors lingered, not just on the tongue, but in the memory, a gentle reminder that even the simplest of meals can be a profound conversation, a delicious tale told in bites and sips, a truly good vibe to start the weekend in Kampala…
DMT 