" It's slow at the café so Um-Nadia sends Mirielle and Sirine out to the Wednesday afternoon farmer's market in Westwood. The two women comb the tables and stalls full of gleaming tomatoes, black-eyed sunflowers, pomegranates full of blood-red seeds. The air smells like burst fruit. Heat rolls in across the neighborhoods, emptying the streets, rippling above the cars. The two women fill bags with knobs and globes of squashes and another bag with garlic and another bag with cucumbers.
"Best walnuts in town," a tanned young farmhand tells Sirine and Mirielle. "They're fresh, perfect, and they taste like butter."
Sirine cocks an eyebrow. "At these prices? They better."
He smiles, his teeth impossibly white. "Hey, you gotta pay for the good stuff. "

― Diana Abu-Jaber , Crescent