<b>Location</b>: Green Grotto, later Gramercy Apartments, 202<br/>Tag: No-one and none, later.<br/><br/>She glanced back at the elegant man a last time before grabbing the last few items on her shopping list and then going to the cashier that happily announced the total price to Sarah that, with a fake smile on her lips, extracted her wallet with nonchalance, "...never again..." .<br/><br/>Feeling lighter than when she walked into the shop and with the strange sensation of having just suffered from a fraud, she walked back to her new home, eyeing the new and fresh palaces, trying to see her new home and spot her balcony, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction and happiness growing in her rather flat chest.<br/><br/>The apartment's hall... the stairs... the potted trees and flowers... the elevator... it all felt and looked different now, now that she owned the right to use them and call them<i>my home</i>and use them when to say<i>...where i live...</i>; even the door looked different, making her check the name-tag a couple more of times before putting the keys into the hole and opening it. A wide smile appeared on her face as she felt tears of joy to form in the corners of her eyes. <<...no... it's not the case...>> murmured her while adjusting her glasses.<br/><br/>With the uncertainess, Sarah moved to the kitchen, wondering where all the items would be, spending several minutes opening and closing drawers and sideboard's doors and, once she had all she needed in front of her eyes, she felt like in those popular TV shows that are so trendy right now, with fancy modern kitchens and unknowns people claiming to be chefs assembling crazy dishes in front of judges; she, instead, had in mind something that needed no titles... no judges... no crazy items...<br/><br/>With apple-skinning experience, matured in years of grandma-induced cookie-cake-pie making, Sarah prepared dough, apples and apple sauce, managing, not without a few troubles, to use the oven.<br/><br/>Twenty minutes. And a nervous look at the pale layer of dough.<br/>Twenty more minutes. And another nervous look at the slightly swollen and yellow-er crust.<br/>Twenty, almost dreadful minutes later. She opened the door, immediately slapped by the hot air filled with the unmistakable smell of cinnamon and apples.<br/><br/>Satisfied with her product, she left the pie to cold out, opting to take a shower, wondering if Jaz would like sweets and cakes. Suddently, the realization of not having bought alcoolics made her nervous, urging her to run into the shower to not think about it too much.