The beginnings of a rainstorm pattered quietly against the window. Clouds covered the last of the waning sun’s light, leaving little natural lighting in the apartment. A damp gray painted the kitchen in melancholy, appliances left as nothing more than silhouettes in the gloom. With a tiny ‘click,’ the lights came on. Shadows appeared beneath chairs, behind doors, within drawers. Grace stepped into the artificially-lit room, her arms stuffed in the pocket of a dark-green hoodie. One hand reached out and pulled the refrigerator open with a soft crackle. The faint, electric buzz of a machine at work grew louder and a new light painted a new set of shadows across the floor. Crouching down, Grace slid the crisper open. The rustling of produce bags covered over the pitter-patter of raindrops for a time. [color=forestgreen]“Hmmmm. Peppers, celery, carrots, onion, tomato.... Lily?”[/color] she called, raising her voice to carry to the bedrooms. [color=forestgreen]“What sounds better tonight: rice? or potatoes?”[/color]