The Garden Hall Room at the Radish Hotel is brimming with activity. Laughter and excited conversations rise above the music. A classic color-changing jukebox is playing a 1960s song by The Platters, Under the Boardwalk. Atop a long banquet table is a generous spread of various foodstuff. A variety of fruits are gathered together, focused on their own animated chatter among themselves, as the following snippets are overheard:
Bananas: We about peeled when we learned we won for doing the best split.
Grapes: You know some people think we’re just a bunch of winos.
Pineapple: I hope you know that you’re always welcome to visit.
Watermelon: My doctor planted a seed in my mind to make me think it’s all water weight.
Cherry: So one night my young lover and I agreed to go for it . . . for the very first time.
Peaches: We swear by the brand of that blade, which will cut through any fuzz.
Oranges: Everyone thinks we’re so irresistible they can’t help but squeeze us.
Kiwifruit: We prefer not to be called Chinese gooseberry anymore.
Pear: Okay, so I’m not from a shapely lot. So eat me.
Strawberries: We were left out in the fields . . . seems like forever.