She’s been silently enjoying her lunch. Though she’s consuming soup she blows quietly to cool it, like whispering over a sleeping child, and she eats from a breadbowl, which makes no sound as she sets her spoon upon the side. She drinks an iced tea without ice, so nothing clinks against the cup. She suppresses a sneeze. She turns pages in the newspaper like Mr. Miyagi.

It’s the first bite of her apple that makes a few of her neighbors look in her direction. The apple crunch happens during a lull in the calming cafe music. The apple crunch seems to echo. Once the picture of peace, now the woman resembles her Red Delicious. She’s so embarrassed to have caused a produce ruckus that she sets the apple down, pushes it away. She waits for the silence to return, the music to return, then she lifts the apple and tries…