The sun's rays glittered off the water so brightly; I had to squeeze my eyes shut for a moment.
But when I opened them I realized that my worst fears were not unfounded and that my inner lemon had just been pressed into a jar a giant being was menacingly walking toward.
The stench of his body odor cut through my inner citrus like a chainsaw would cut through butter. His orange hair shone like a floodlight; as unnatural as his cadence, which was strained and awkward as if his relationship to things natural was acidic.
But that's an affront to my juiciness - which is usually something to revel in (with a little sugar or honey).
Mar-A-Lago said the sign above the walking orange crush and crush is what he had done to me. I needed revenge and wouldn't be writing this if I hadn't found it.
You may wonder how a lemon can type. Well I wonder how a human can run or be as stupid as some of you that I've met. After all a lot of your species voted for this behemoth that has his weasel like eyes on me. So please don't question me - question yourselves and your thought process. I have work to do.
I will admit that it's a little odd to be here in the present and in the past at the same time. But I have to get out of this dilemma (with the assurance that I already have) since I'm typing in past tense while being here in the present.
The solution is simple. I will go further back in time. I will assure America that he is a lemon. They will believe me because of my authenticity. Thus a lemon turns to lemonade. You're welcome.