She doesn't sigh. She doesn't. She doesn't have it in her, she can't slide here, and she doesn't apologize. Even if he's right. But what Jo does do, is walk across the porch area and sit down on the stairs next to him. "I suppose bread wouldn't suck. Not that we have any butter. Or mayo. But it would be a slight change of pace, and that would't suck."

Even if seeds did not automatically a loaf of bread make, and not like she had the faintest clue how long it took to grow wheat, or whether the mill even had the means to make flour, but it might. She could walk through the building just fine, and had before and after The Boys had vanished, but it was a language she didn't speak.

She still hates the boxes. She still hates that it makes them dependent and complicit.