A bunch of broccoli was stuck between the third shelf and the back of the refrigerator. It hung upside down, the florets nearly touching the shelf below. The man saw it first and pointed it out to Nina. The broccoli wasn't yellow or covered with slime. During the weeks that it had hung between the shelves, it had become darker and dryer. In a few more weeks it would have become a broccoli mummy. It smelled all right – or rather, it didn't smell of anything.

"I'm sure we can still cook it," the man said.

Lara Vapnyar, "Broccoli,"
The New Yorker 5 Jan 04, page 81