Apple Pie

Apple Pie

 Hello Catherine?

 Yes?

 What are you doing today?

 I’m going to the market to the market to buy some apples; to make the famous apple pie, I promised you a long time ago!

 Am I coming with you?

 If you want..

 So, meet at 10:00 am, on the market square?

 Deal !

 I finish my cup of coffee, I get ready ...

 I went down the stairs four by four; it's a Saturday; I've always loved Saturdays and hated Sundays, for some reason That I still ignore till now, but I think it’s most probably related to the hobby of sweet laziness and that Sunday is followed alwaby Monday, no exception!

 the weather is nice and i have the feeling that a good day is ahead of me.

 Once in the street, I smell the traders in the street and especially the croissants from the bakery on the corner.

 I rush to the bus stop where there were already a lot of people ...

 a teenager with his scooter, a group of punk tattooed from head to toe; all dressed in white and not black to my surprise!

 Tattoos, as our neighbor used to say, are walking and public scars!

 They looked like a group of angels going to funerals to help families and the dead get into the mood.

 Everything becomes a commodity, everything is sold and everything is bought even with feelings, and especially feelings; it's free, no need for a special offer!

 Very easy to pretend to love instead of really loving. It's faster and less complicated, so it's quick and ready to go and / or ready to eat.

 Hey, yes you, the society of consumption, how far do you want to take us ?! Yes, this is you I'm talking to, don't pretend you're innocent, don't pretend you don't understand anything, you're stupid yes, but only when you feel like it.  

You perfectly master the art of theater with improvised masks adapted to each situation.

 And anyway, you plead innocent; junk food isn't it you ?? Force-feed the ducks to put your foie gras on the well-decorated tables of all the restaurants in the world!

 Prestige yes, that's it, another disease that will be the cousin Benjamin of the superlatives virus!

 There were mothers with their babies and strollers to go to the park.  

Children, do you like the sun? Enjoy it! Soon there will be no more.

 You will also be buying it soon in chocolate or vanilla artificial flavor in supermarkets.

 There was a tall sportsman with his basketball; who had a lost look, he was probably thinking about his next game and the competition with the other team.

 Besides, I've always wanted to know who invented this competitive nonsenses … ah?

 Why should we always be the best, the biggest, the smartest, the most interesting, the richest and the strongest…?

 So who will be the shortest, the ugliest, the poorest, the most unhappy, the most clumsy?

 Why learn if you are already perfect?

 And what's the point of being perfect? Have you ever seriously thought about this handicap of being perfect? For which there is no cure, no therapy; the greatest misfortune of all misfortunes; yes I know; I allow myself to use the superlative here only because it is for a good cause that is nothing other than to denounce perfectionism.

Anyway, let go back to our subject.

 Someone should explain to me this obsession with superlatives in life ... or better yet, they should be removed from grammar books; to the delight of the students,

 and I would be crowned: the sleeping beauty who refused to kiss Prince Charming and who preferred to save the students of the land from superlatives;

 believe me, it's more dangerous than a virus ...

 I got on the bus, usually I take the 26 to go to the market place;

 today it is marked that the 4 is replacing it… that should be fine I thought to myself, anyway it was always my lucky number in college… but that’s another story.

 The only empty seat I could find was behind the driver and next to a gentleman who must have been in his sixties.

 The bus resumed, the heat was terrible and it smelled the gasoline.

 My neighbor was still talking on the phone and indirectly I found myself straining my ears to forget the heat and the smell ...

 He said:

 It's 33, old walls street, and it’s a dead end that goes down ..

 Yes, yes ... No, the 33 not the 23 ... yes that's it ...

 He opens the main door and he goes up to the second floor… he forces the small window which gives on the corridor….

 He enters on the tips of the feet very slowly,

 preferably without making any noise ... the black cat Zoro is always sleeping, the grandmother

hears nothing and she is watching TV without sound.

 He enters the second room on the right which is the only bedroom. In the white yellowish closet, he will find a lot of bills of 500$ and some old jewelry.

 Wait… wait… and he kills the grandma with a vase on her head, on his way out…

 And then, and only then, couldn't take it anymore ...

 I'm sitting next to a criminal!!

 A serial killer !! Help… help me… .aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa .... But apparently no one can hear me… I have no voice anymore,  and even the driver did not feel my violent kicks in his back !!

 So, I opted for the last solution: sending a text message to the police ...

 Phew… it's done, thank you technology that saved my life.  

In two stations, the bus stops and I get off…. Annnddd mmyyyy neighboooorrr toooo!!

 What a horror, he follows me!

 And on the sidewalk in front of me, I find two policemen with handcuffs!

 And we all go to the police station to party!

 After questioning for half an hour,

 verdict 1:

 the gentleman is a scriptwriter who dictated a script to his collaborator.

 Verdict 2:

 I am a crazy woman who watches too many detective series!

 So, the 4 of us (me, the screenwriter and the two police officers) went to party at Catherine's to finally eat an apple pie ...

 Her apple pie!