“Fennel, which is the spice for Wednesdays, the day of averages, of middle-aged people. . . . Fennel . . . smelling of changes to come.”

“Chili, spice of red Thursday, which is the day of reckoning. Day which invites us to pick up the sack of our existence and shake it inside out. Day of suicide, day of murder.”

“Each day has a color, a smell.”

“Each spice has a special day to it. For turmeric it is Sunday, when light drips fat and butter-colored into the bins to be soaked up glowing, when you pray to the nine planets for love and luck.”

“Fenugreek, Tuesday's spice, when the air is green like mosses after rain.”

“Monday is the day of silence, day of the whole white mung bean, which is sacred to the moon.”

“Tomorrow is another day. I've got plenty of things to worry about right now.”