I love pluots, but the name makes my nose flair.
It makes me reminisce. I daydream about the sound of uneating fruit the tingling taste lingering on my tongue.
Or the sound of something squishy, plummeting down into it's grave.
Perhaps the sound of poop falling into a toilet. Would the poop soften the sound? Would the sound soften the hardness in my heart for the unnerving word?
Pictured: A plout. Source: https://iowagirleats.com/2010/08/27/eat-pray-love/
Authors Note: Just writers in @ink-ubator being ourselves; you know, weird.
