We ate the first tomatoes from the garden this week. I ate one in the morning—alone, furtively—after crawling out onto the roof deck to water the plants that aren’t really supposed to be there in the first place. It was the first thing I had that day, before coffee, before water or breakfast, before wiping the sleep out of my eyes. The tiny tomato was already warm from the hot sun, and sweet and bright-tasting, like it looks.
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