Short glimpses into a brief walk on the edge of Central Park yesterday. What could be the name of the strange fruit?

The air outside has the perfect soupy thickness. I could probably create galactic swirls in it. Or maybe just pour colored air into it, make thick clouds, growing, pouring between buildings, into windows, through cracks in floors, all the way to the basements, the soil, the bedrock, beyond? -- Central Park looked as if it were painted onto a freshly wetted sheet of paper. The rocks protruding between the leaf covered grass: pitch black, lacking all features of three dimensional objects. With their own perfect shadows, they were the pure amplifiers for the surrounding hues. The trunks of trees seemed to also be players in this game. Black carriers of gold, red, orange, and still some greenish green. All elevated into the thick grey soup of the air. Even the youngest ones could play skyscrapers. A group of black birds tried to have a feast on new seeds released by a nearby shrub. The heads and the beaks of black birds were just not created for slippery hard-shelled hazelnuts. A bird would pick up one of the round objects half the size of his head, try to trick it into its throat, only to discover that the seed was too big and the beak was far too slippery as well. The bird's beak became a nut thrusting device. The object would fly a few inches ahead of the bird, the animal would then rediscover the found food, try to repeat the impossible task of swallowing the uncracked nut just to thrust it again, and again, and again. Some of the birds tried to do something with their thin red feet. Some tried pecking the nut. Most were playing beak-ball. On a little patch of freshly touched ground not far from the birds, some mysterious fruit: Bright green caricatures of grapefruits, a sticky sap sweating out of the sometimes hairy pores. The one I picked up as if it were an object from a crime scene investigation, might weight about a pound. It is about the size of a large grapefruit. It looks so incredibly alien. The logic of the texture on its surface seems beyond what one could dare to understand. Somebody must have kicked one on the ground as it was opened, empty inside, as if the skin itself were an arrangement of green mutations between pomegranate seeds and corn, made into an orange without fruit flesh. The object smells a bit like a citrus fruit... I am intrigued... -- The moisture of the planet ascends through the bedrock, the soil, maybe basements. Swirls of complexly mixed air dance in ever new formations around grateful trees and clueless humans. Thick clouds create a perfectly soupy thickness outside, letting even the youngest ones be skyscrapers.