The last fight Peppah had with her mother obsessed her.  It stood out in her mind  like a giant picture postcard in front of her face.  It was one o’ clock in the afternoon.  Mama was sleeping the day away and Grandmother Jones was fussing around the apartment, trying to make something out of nothing in the kitchen.  A hopeful smell of onion and bouillon cubes misted through the place.  She had gathered two beat-up looking carrots and a half-cup of Minute Rice and a row of saltine crackers that would serve for
dinner.