To avoid moving, I parked myself near a display at the end of the escalator I deemed most probable for Crash's return to Mos Eisley. It was a display of apples. Big apples, sure. Pretty apples? You'd better believe it. Chocolate covered, even. I was tempted. As everyone knows, you can only improve on nature by adding candy, and the brilliant mind who devised these particular apples exploited that angle to the fullest. These apples were scarcely recognizable as such, for they had layer upon layer of caramel, chocolate, sprinkles, candied-nuts, and bits of plain ol' candy. The brilliant and twisted mind behind the candied fruits was none other than Mrs. Prindable. (I know this because her name was everywhere -- this is a most brazen display of treachery.)
Prindable must be a clever woman: devious, diabolical, and clever. You see, she is able to sell apples -- APPLES! -- for $20 a piece or more. Capitalism is alive and well, and where supply meets demand, you'll find Prindable. After all, apples don't grow on tre... oh. Poke a stick through the apple, add some processed sugar, and suddenly regular people are willing to work two or three hours to earn enough money for just one of Mrs. Prindable's sweet, sweet apples.
She could be the next Oprah, you know -- this is a billion-dollar scheme! Watch out for Prindable; she's coming up the ranks. Next month, when the Christmas melee has subsided, she could very well be supreme ruler of the universe.