My dad showed me how to pluck berries from among the thorns, how to gather the precise right amount for a single emergency pie, how to stir the cornstarch with mashed ones and sugar until it thickened. We used oreo crusts and a layer of cream cheese between crust and filling. I was the best picker because I wouldn’t eat them; I had strategies for efficiency and fastidious concentration.
Something is unlikely about it.
In sports I have always been distractible. I am clumsy even with furniture, let alone thorns. I eat small things impulsively.
Yet raspberries, somehow, I can pick.
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