He began to long for the smell of a lived-in kitchen, where kids run around underfoot and the parents slice vegetables and stir simmering pots and check to see if whatever is in the oven is done. The sink is stained with coffee grounds and the walls are flecked with red spots missed by the dishrag as it hurried by on spaghetti night. Empty wine bottles and old newspapers crowd the recycling bin and the room smells vaguely of overripe fruit and vegetables -- not offensive at all, but organic, earthy, natural. His own kitchen smelled of nothing, was neutral. When he did cook, which was rare, he meticulously wiped down the counter tops, backsplash and sink. He sweeps often, has no children and takes out the garbage every night. He resided in his home, but he did not live there.