Liza couldn't explain this to Mike because he was a man and men didn't understand these things. This was strictly Woman Territory. Especially the ones who'd ever had babies.

Liza didn't know what to call the force that propelled her, four months pregnant and still not showing, into decisions nowadays, but it was a force. She felt powerless to defeat it and had given up fighting it. What else could she call this'¦this thing that woke her at 2 in the morning and told her she'd better get a corndog right now? What else could make her salivate at the scent of steak and onions, trailing a tantalizing finger under her nose on Monday, and on Tuesday, make her nauseous? Whatever it was, it was strong and it was wicked.

With determination she ordinarily admired in other people but not herself, she charged down 73rd because the force was telling her she wanted a polish sausage with sauerkraut. Lots of sauerkraut. And the best polishes were at 73rd and Avery, sold by a man she'd passed dozens of times but never really looked at. He was like the background along 73rd: there, but who paid attention to it until you needed something?

A thick scent beckoned from her left and when she turned her head, she saw the pretzel guy. Three people were lined up, businessmen. The pretzels were huge and fat, like bloated carcasses. As the man in front of the line took his pretzel, he smeared mustard in an orderly line around the curves. Liza saw a rebellious drop flop onto his finger, but he didn't let it escape: he lapped it up right before he bit into the doughy body, steam rising like a hollow scream. Liza wondered if he burned his tongue.

She stopped at the corner and waited. Exhaust from passing cars threatened to knock her over with its polluting stench, so she held her breath. She didn't want the baby sucking that in. She knew that didn't make sense, she didn't think the baby could smell anything, but she'd still stopped wearing the perfume Mike had bought her. She hadn't cared for that particular gift anyway. She preferred strong scents on her wrists, on the back of her knees, not that sticky floral stuff he liked. The kind of perfume that slapped you with its presence instead of coyly beckoning.

Two more blocks to Avery. Two more blocks to a plump, greasy prize. She could already smell it: the buttery heat of the bun wrapped around the pungent sausage. Separate, they weren't much, but when you put them together, they were something else. Something special.

One block to Avery and she could see the man at his cart. No line. She felt like running, but decided to walk it out. Stroll along like she didn't have a care in the world, like the force wasn't nudging her back and whispering in her ear to hurry it up.

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