Elana imagined a world without money. A world in which she could eat at the Food House, where the daily smells always made her mouth water. She’d savour each bite before letting it fill her groaning stomach. Then she’d wander the market and enjoy loukoumades, her fingers dripping in sweet honey. When her stomach ached from goodness, she’d lie on a cool marble slab at the bathhouse while someone gently eased the knots from her shoulders and stroked her hair.
Elana pushed through the crowds to join the line at the church. Perhaps today they’d have enough soup for everyone.