Silent Knit, Deadly Knit

the woman asked, in lieu of a more conventional greeting.

After a lunch of cheese omelets, Penny retreated to her room to commune with friends via her smartphone.

“Get the kale ready to cook?”

Penny and Pamela staged their cart at the checkout station whose conveyor belt held the smallest number of items.

everyday supplies were low,

concessions to modernity—claim a cart

with so many people contributing to the menu,

Nearby, a square of white butcher’s paper had been folded back to reveal four sausages, deep pink and marbled with fat, and so plump that the membranes containing them were stretched to a glossy sheen.

“Better safe than sorry!”

Would someone named Ida Wilma Merten wear close-fitting sheath dresses and stiletto heels?