The Counterfeit Peach

There’s always someone willing to open Frankenstein doors to unspeakable fate, like the counterfeit peach. Dulled by soundproof walls, the racket of spindles and levers, rollers, platen, treadle, a flywheel that creaks round and round, each fruit is manufactured and held up to a magnified eye. They’re good enough to trick the man at the newsstand, or the waitress tired on her feet. For a little while. Oh, but it can’t last. It’s an old story with a moral too: there’s no way to truly replicate a peach, for that only nature can create.