Brooke: Avatiach, take 2

So, I am currently in the middle of re-working this. My biggest problem right now is tense. I sort of switch in and out of different tenses pretty randomly and I am trying to find a way to standardize it all, or at least make it flow. I haven’t finished re-working it, but I will post what I have done so far.
One of my professors biggest comments was that I needed to focus the story a little better. He was like: “Who’s story is this???”
So I decided to make it Ami’s. Tell me what you think…it’s significantly longer.

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Israelis eat watermelon.
During July and August—the height of the season—the streets of Israel fill up with large wooden melon carts. The carts amble slowly, unhurried, as the vendors call through crackly old megaphones in Hebrew “Avatiach! Avatiach!” — “Watermelon, Watermelon!” People exit their houses and flow into the streets, scrambling to purchase their favorite summertime fruit. Later they will serve it in a bowl, carefully cut and cubed, with nuts and tea for their guests—the perfect summertime treat. Sweet and refreshing.
Ami Tamir left Israel.
It was an impulsive decision, sudden and startling. His parents were not very happy. He found love, love lived in Los Angeles, he moved and they married—all within a crazy whirlwind of a year. In LA the summer streets are filled with ice-cream trucks. Smooth and white, neat menus printed on their sides and loud tinny music springing from their speakers. At the sound, children run into the streets with pocket change to buy fudgesicles, ice cream sandwiches, strawberry milkshakes—whatever they can scrape up the money for. If they are lucky they might even buy one of those colorful Popsicles shaped like The Hulk or Spiderman. But even after relocating to the sleek LA suburbs—summer, for Ami, meant watermelon.
In LA there are no wooden melon carts ambling through the streets, or colorful open-air markets with piles of fresh produce. The people here spend little time deliberating over their fruit—they simply grab and go. But Ami still chooses his fruit like he did in Israel; knocking his knuckles thoughtfully on the green-striped rind, listening carefully for the sweetest and the juiciest. He always finds them, and brings them home proudly to his wife and daughter.

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Okay, so obviously I have to finish the last part. but that’s all I’ve got so far. However! I also wanted to share some fascinating watermelon trivia I have learned over the course of my writing/research.  There is this cool and rare type of watermelon nicknamed “moon and star” watermelon for its unusually colored rind: