How Do You Like Them Apples?

For the last few days, I’ve been helping myself to apples from a box left outside one of the houses on St. John’s Path in Hitchin. Either someone nice lives there, or it’s the Wicked Queen.

It’s a sad indictment of the world we live in, that I first felt mistrust. ‘What have they been laced with?’ I thought to myself. I sunk my teeth into one, expecting a suspicious almond aftertaste. Thankfully, there wasn’t. It tasted of apple. Perhaps they wanted to lull me into a false sense of security, by waiting until I'd started taking them before adding the cyanide. Poison isn’t cheap.

(Not that I'd know myself.)

Leaving out fruit for passersby is a lovely, selfless thing to do. Why can’t more people be like that? I might pop a note in the box to thank them. Would it be impolite to also ask for sandwiches? 

I've just remembered that apple pips contain cyanide anyway. I'm terrified.