“Bula Berries!” the shopkeeper blared out. The day was hot. So very hot. “Apples! Lightvine!” The heat was everywhere. It washed over every exposed inch of my rind. “Grapefruit! Madu fruit! Watermelons!” I feel a pleasant buzz through me as I hear my name yelled throughout the courtyard for all to hear. It makes me proud to be a watermelon, for I am king of the fruits. All other fruits, nay, all other plants cower before my rotund majesty, as they rightly should, for none can hope to manage my regal, mighty presence. Ah. It is good to be king. They do not respond. They never do. Ah, who am I kidding?