Tiny oranges

My fingers are slightly stained and perfumey after having eaten three out of the four tiny oranges I brought for my 9 o'clock break. Three because my friend K who sits next to me asked whether these were pumpkins on my desk and when I told her they were oranges and asked if she wanted one she said no, that something so small must surely be very bitter, and I had to tell her how wrong she was. She reconsidered and is perhaps even now marveling at the incredible tiny sweet perfection. She has left early and I am without neighbors.

So how very cool to be able to sit here sniffing tangerine oil on my fingers while listening to Saint Saens on the ipod and reading Mike Doughty's beautiful poetic blog entries from Ethiopia.