she comes into the bakery with a secretive look in her eyes and a box in her hands. she is quiet and trying hard to look casual as she searches for a woman to greet her. [i can't quite determine what is in the box, a surprise maybe? or perhaps twenty years of secrets? recipes only her mother knew...notebooks containing scribbles of fine ingredients, food stained pages, and amateur sketches. the best is a sketch of a cinnamon roll with frosting, a whole page in size, with makeshift, cliché steam drawn above the pastry as squiggly lines... but this is just a guess, i don't really know whats inside.]
now, she delivers the box in a drug-deal like fashion. she slides the old, worn out cardboard box across the counter and receives a nod and a smile from the lady in the back of the kitchen.
she leaves.
[i smile and order my coffee]
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