Her longing for her apartment was a subterranean ache, that small square of the world that was hers alone. The solace of her kitchen. She thought of the day, not long ago, when she was in her kitchen, on her day off, and felt contentment wash over her, calming, refreshing waves of contentment, as she stood by the sink, sieving cornmeal, breaking apart dried fish, and pausing to watch a whole pepper float in her pot, yielding its spice and heat.
