’I’m fine,’ she said again, her whole body shaking. She reached out a hand to the plants growing in their neat rows and saw with wonder that she had slumped next to a tomato plant. There were tomatoes growing on it, tight in their skins and perfectly red. After A moment, she reached out a trembling hand and plucked one from its stem, jerking a little as she did so. […]”
In “The Ninth Rain” by Jen Williams.
The great city of Ebora didn’t seem so alien after all…If I were reading a physical book, this would probably be the only book that I’d purposefully abandon at a train station, hoping that it would go to some "Lost Items" limbo. I'm an old-school SF fan, and I hate the way the SF shelves in the bookshops are increasingly dominated by great slabs of swords'n'sorcery, usually endless volumes of the same stuff by the same author, like they're paid by the meter. And the covers are astonishingly awful - like SF covers were in about 1968. Yech. My point is that the fantastic genre has always been with us ever since the first bard sat at the hearth and sang his songs.
If you're into SF, read on.