munching what was left of my apple. Usually I ate them whole, core, stalk, the lot, and had done so ever since I was a boy, and there was something about that, to do with the slightly bitter taste of the stalk and the seeds, and the stringy consistency of the core, that for some reason always reminded me of childhood, as if the deviance of that action, for that was how I perceived it, as a rather deviant thing to do, opened up new spaces of experience compared to the norm, which was the taste of the white, succulent flesh of the fruit. These spaces were not large expanses, more like tiny stabs
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see, people who eat apple cores are freaks
