The shopper leaned close, examining the tomato through the thin plastic netting. It was deeply red, with a patch of bruised skin near the equator. A faint, earthy scent, mixed with vinegar, drifted up from the pile of produce. The tomato's stem end rested on the damp plastic tray, and every few seconds, a small, rhythmic tick-tack sound emanated from it. It was a delicate, almost mechanical clicking, completely out of place in the quiet mid-afternoon aisle. A single, viscous drop of juice detached itself from the stem and slowly fell, hitting the tray with a wet plop. The shopper watched the juice spread, then gently adjusted their angle, listening to the steady, affectionate rhythm of the clicking. They reached out a finger, careful not to disturb the slow drip, and simply observed the tomato's persistent, quiet sound.
click · calm