From the Diary of Cerulean Saffron
We had a pretty good day here at the Hopeful House. Periwinkle and Indigo helped me make jam out of our blackberry crop. We ate it slathered on thick slices of homemade bread.
Oh, God, sometimes I hate myself. "Homemade bread." Why did I write that? Like there's any other kind in Nowhere. Like I could run down to the Piggly Wiggly and buy a loaf of ready-made bread if I wanted to. Sure, I can gather up the kids and we could walk down to the Piggly Wiggly. There might even be a few loaves left on the bread aisle. But I'd hate to see the condition they're in.
The bakery and the milk man don't deliver in Nowhere. Indigo and Periwinkle and all the other little ones I've watched over the years know that. In Nowhere you have to do for yourself. If you want bread, you have to grow the grain and make the dough. If you want jam, you have to grow the fruit.
If you want to live, you have to keep your head down and stay away from Mayor Blue.
What was that thud? Indigo's crying. What's going on? Here comes Periwinkle.
Damn it. The Outlawz are here. They threw rocks at the girls' window. I've got to handle this. Be right back.