Mike sat barefooted on the stone steps of his front porch, holding an apple. He bit into the red, supple fruit and held that first chunk on his tongue for a moment, it was sweet and juicy. He chewed it lazily. I can't believe I've been blind for so long. Eyes closed, he felt and listened too the flesh of the apple grind under his teeth. The skin was slightly bitter and refused to be shredded without effort. How could I have fooled myself? When the bit of apple was thoroughly ground, Mike tilted his head back and swallowed, feeling the fruit travel down his throat.

    "Hey, Mike! What's up""

    Mike peeked open an eye to see his neighbor, Charlie Mattson, jogging in place at the bottom of his steps. Sweat darkened the armpits and neckline...