After a long, hot week at work, my body decided it was time for fresh fruit. Not a polite suggestion either. More like a craving that grabbed me by the collar and marched me straight to the grocery store before I even had my morning coffee. I walked in with purpose, the kind of purpose a man only gets when he is convinced salvation lies somewhere between the apples and the cantaloupes.

The produce section greeted me with a proud display of fresh-cut watermelon. Every piece glowed with that deep red color that promises summertime magic. You know the look. The kind that makes you think of porch swings, cicadas, and the kind of heat that makes the air shimmer. I picked up a quarter of one, already imagining myself sitting in the cool of the afternoon, enjoying something sweet enough to make me forget the week I had just survived.

Well, that dream lasted right up until the first bite.