“June do you remember how to cook?” I asked.“Oh alright,” she said with a sneer.She scrambled the last of my eggs from a neighbor’s hen hous...e. It had been a deal for plowing and then dragging his garden space. He would be trading more when the garden plants were ready to leave the green house on May first, more or less. That neighbor and his wife were helping me revive the almost dead sense of community. The bacon, which June burned, came from the grocery store. The community farms were not. . to my 19th floor apartment at ‘One-London-Place’ on Queens Ave.”(Note: One-London-Place was built in 1998, and is the tallest building in Southwestern Ontario. It’s a luxury twenty-four floor office-apartment complex in the heart of downtown London. I just accelerated its completion to use it in my 1979 story.)“Are you, uh, working next Friday? I wouldn’t mind going down and watching the Parkside-Voaden game at 1pm, and then...”“I’m working my usual eleven-to-seven-shift next Friday night, so. Better than nothing. He finished the plate. Mustgo shopping tomorrow, he thought. Get some proper food. Cook upsomething scrumptious. And I'd better get some more chocolate.Now for a glass of ale. He opened the bottle, poured a glass and took abig gulp.Funny. He liked a bitter drop, but this was too bitter for his taste.Must be a bad batch. He must take it back and see about a refund. Hepoured a glass of coke and drank it straight down, patting his mouthwith his fingers when he was finished. He. ”“Yeah.” Mallory’s voice grew breathless. Her arms lay beside her motionless as she pondered what Carmen just said. Suddenly her heart dropped, and she frowned. “It’s funny.”“What’s funny, baby?” Carmen cooed.“It’s funny how much you can fill me up, and I can still feel empty inside.” Mallory sighed. She turned halfway around and asked. “You don’t really love me, do you?”Carmen rolled back and kept her eyes downcast. “No.” She mewed. “I guess pretending this is going somewhere isn’t doing us.