2:47 pm already. Lunch would have been ready in one hour the closest, considering the still sturdy state of the lasagna sheets waiting in the terrines. She filched a piece of raw cauliflower in her mouth.
She was staggeringly hungry. As they walked back home they only encountered cheap food shops – the fried, artificially coloured, animal fat hyped offers they displayed could not even possibly become her dinner, so she decided she would have drunk an herb tea – or two – which, she was sure, was on her kitchen’s upper shelf.