'Well, if not now, then when?'
Jez says, having snuck into Nathan's
willy orchard. I see scrumping
as a patriotic act, he will later blog,
but for now, he shushes Cassandra
with an index finger against the corner of her mouth
and a kiss to the front.
With his free hand, he reaches up
and picks a farm-fresh todge right off
the branch. If I'm candid, I was thrilled
by his audacity, Cassandra's status update for tomorrow will read.
A klaxon starts up.
A bank of floodlights drowns them.
'Get down on the ground, and thread your hands
behind your back!' comes the bullhorned order,
helicopter downdraft flattening the grass.
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