I arrived panting and damp with sweat. I slid off my bike, and, fumbling a moment with the keys, locked it to the rack. I checked the time. 7:56. I heaved a sigh of relief; it would all be worth it soon.

I hurried through the parking lot, past the flowers and through the automatic doors. The line at the checkout looked long enough to buy me all the time I needed. I hadn't been there in over a year and the layout, or my memory of it, had changed. Funny how things do that. I snaked around the display stands and refrigerator cases, eyes darting madly about, searching for my grail.

It eluded me. I was Galahad, Ahab, the Cowardly Lion, the object of my quest no less thwarting. I turned towards the registers. The rest of the clientèle was older and looked on with suspicion as I grew more frantic. They had forgotten what it meant to live, to want! To set your mind's eye on a prize and seek it out, no matter the cost! They had lost their passion.

But where was it? Where?!

There! A large sign dangled from the ceiling which read, in a gentle cursive font, maybe Lucia or Dancing Script, "Berries". And there they were. Rows upon rows of small containers of fresh raspberries. My holy chalice, my whale, my heart, my under-wrought metaphor!

I picked up a container in the second row, inspected it, replaced it, and grabbed a container in the third row. Never take the first fruit. Someone might realize that you have no idea what you're looking for. If someone you admire is watching, it is often prudent to take the third, or even fourth fruit.

I paid, in cash. The cashier gave me a weird look, like "Dude, you look like you just biked fifteen miles for a box of raspberries from a store that's closing in one minute. Are you nuts? We don't even grow these here. You could have gotten the exact same berries from Stop & Shop."

He had expressive eyes.

There was a short wooden fence in the parking lot, so I sat on it and watched the sun set over the neat rows of crops in the fields before me. I ate the entire box of raspberries in less than five minutes. I tossed the box into the recycling bin, unlocked my bike, and headed home. The pollen on the unwashed raspberries started to itch the roof of my mouth. Then, my throat began to tighten. I struggled home, gasping for air.

Sometimes when we find the things we most desire, they consume us instead.

...

Or they give us a mild allergic reaction, in which case a benadryl and cold glass of water do the trick.