She finds herself eating mostly from bowls now. Not just breakfast, all of her meals are taken the same way: eaten greedily with a spoon. She lives alone and she discovered not long ago that it is a life in which modesty serves no purpose. Being alone isn’t as hard for her as it used to be, although the loneliness still comes occasionally, coming and passing again like the memory of a broken bone that still aches in winter.
It was six in the morning: outside the sky was blue, like water, as though her apartment had been submerged in it. She wasn’t used to being awake so early and she moved slowly at that hour, as though she was pushing her limbs through water like a scuba diver.