The Fruit of All Fears: Under the Dome by Stephen King

Where: Q-train
Who was reading: A young African American woman with hair ironed smooth and hot pink nail polish smudged up all rough. 
Maybe this was a skin condition? But there were little raised semi-spheres all along her neck and jawline looking like nothing so much as goosebumps.
Oooo Goosebumps—Let's talk about that some more! Did anyone else read the Goosebumps book about the kid with the camera that took pictures of terrible accidents that were just about to happen? Say Cheese and Die it was called. I didn't sleep for a fortnight after reading it.
Anyway, there was plenty to be horrified about on that train car. Across the aisle, a crazed man had extracted a very rotten banana from his very overstuffed shopping bag and was consuming it bite by gloopy bite in tandem with spoonsful of peanut butter and margarine. 
I couldn't believe it! (wasn't butter). No offense to Stephen and no offense to those who savor the flavor of rot, but I don't think the king of horror himself could have conceived a fruit more sinister and/or vile.