3.24

I remember that they used to know me by name. On top of spending four days a week after school in dance class, I spent most of my Saturdays working on Nutcracker choreography. There was always a break in there somewhere and it was usually reserved for homework and food. The Island bakery was always my first choice, at least when I had the money. It was a short walk, but it got pretty cold sometimes in just tights and a leotard. I don’t think I minded too much, the food at the bakery was worth the effort. They had the most amazingly greasy pizza and soft, frosted sugar cookies. I would usually take the quick trip by myself, because none of the girls I danced with were what I could consider friends. Sometimes I’d take a trip for the secretary, and bring her back a treat or two.

I stopped buying my favorite meal at the bakery when I stopped dancing. I wish I hadn’t stopped. I would give anything to be able to take classes again. But life gets in the way. Or divorces happen. Every so often I make a stop at the bakery. I’d venture there more often if I had someone to accompany me. I guess not many people understand the superb deliciousness of a local bakery. But maybe I just don’t know many people anymore. I still get my usual. The pizza is still greasy, and the cookies still melt in my mouth. I’m always worried that they’ll close down. All these money-hungry corporations are famous for screwing over local businesses. But I suppose the people are to blame as well. If consumers weren’t so concerned with saving 25 cents on a loaf of bread, life would be good.