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I saunter up, all cocky, say, “Hey, how’s biz?” She laughs—dry, sarcastic laugh—goes, “Better than your fish stink.” Burn! I’m mad for a sec, but damn, she’s funny! Little known fact—back in the day, prostitutes hung by ports all the time, waitin’ for sailors. History’s wild, right? Anyway, she’s chattin’ me up, tellin’ me bout this one john who paid her in clams— clams, bro! I’m dyin’ laughin’, picturin’ her stuffin’ shells in her purse.

Must-Read Fiction by Arab and Arab American Authors

Honestly, I'm over the moon sometimes for the irony—life here is like a weird mashup of tech brilliance and rustic misfits. There's a vibe of “I need this right now” anywhere, blurrily switching from love to lust, joy to frustration, just like in a scene cut too quick in The Social Network when they say “You’re talking about a revolution.” Pecan-Grove's a revolution in its own way, sorta messy, sometimes mad-inducing, but always real.

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