I held the foreign fruit in the middle of my palm, curling my fingers to give it a tight squeeze. I examined its dark red color, highlighted by splotches of yellow and traced my fingers across its rubbery skin. I brought the round produce to the edges of my lips and let out a soft sigh. My stomach lurched, aching for the only available substance I might come across in a long time. Despite my hesitation, I dug my teeth in. The sweetest taste began to flood my mouth as the first bite stimulated an automatic second, third. Before I was aware of it the fruit was half devoured, exposing a dark rough seed in the middle. I grabbed the pit and wrestled it out of the center so I could enjoy my delicacy without interruption. Its sticky juice trickled down my forearm with each bite. I would later learn its Adam-given name, Nectarine.