Grape.

I dreamt last night, over and over, the same monotonous kind of background that certain pestering dreams take on, about punch downs- the process of mixing the massive fermentation tanks filled with grapes- soon to be wine- with a heavy hydraulic machine that hangs from the ceiling of the warehouse. I dreamt about cleaning the heavy juice of smashed grapes off of the sides of the tanks, hosing it off the floor. And mostly, I dreamt about the sticky goo of crushed grape parts and wriggling earwigs that we have to clean out of the filter of the sorting conveyor with our hands. I had to remind myself over and over that there were no earwigs in my bed.

I bought a pack of gum- there was "berry" and "mint"- I chose "berry" and guess what flavor it is? Grape.

This is full immersion.