She shit into the bucket, took a teaspoonful out to add to the blender and flushed the rest of it. She spat in the blender and added the syringeful of blood, the Oxo cupworth of piss, the tear-soaked Keenex and the rust-colored shreds of tampon. She clipped her fingernails over the mess and then used the vegetable peeler to scrape some hair and skin from her forearm.
          She measured out the wholemeal, added it along with the water, yeast, salt, milk, butter, herbs, roots and sugar. Eggs? No eggs this time. A dash of vinegar though, and puree.
          She poured the slurry of brown filth into the bread pan, sprinkled it with olive oil and covered it with a damp cloth. She cleaned the blender and bucket and took a shower and by the time she was clean and relaxed the bread was about half-risen. Removing the cloth, she poured herself a glass of wine and spread a light coating of Merlot onto the bread with a basting brush. She lit a cigarette, tapping the ash gently over the pan, then sat in her armchair and listened to Rumors twice through. By now it was nearly ready.
          From the small toolbox she kept in the kitchen drawer she took a pair of pliers. Running a little short on teeth these days, she resigned herself to a molar. Harder to extract than some of the others, and more painful, but when she was done it was mostly intact. She wiped the tears and sweat from her face with the cloth, spat out the blood and mucus into the pan—for luck—and, hands shaking with adrenaline, planted the cracked molar in the center of the bread.
          Thirty-five minutes later, when the oven dinged, she took out the bread and set it on the kitchen windowsill to cool. She sat again, lost in thought, a little drunk now. Outside the living room window (propped open in the summer twilight heat), beyond and below her apartment, the life of the city continued, endless streams of people flowing up and down the streets, each one living their unmolested unreflective unassaulted solitary lives.
          The homuncula climbed its way down from the sill and hobbled over to her on its warm encrusted feet. It turned its face (identical to her face and to the face of all its sisters) up to her and tried to hug her ankle. She kicked it away and whistled for the others. They emerged from their cracks and crevices and hidey-holes, took their new comrade in hand and began to teach it things.
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