I want to be clear that I like the bakery. I like the people. I like the bread, when it exists. What I do not like is the way the entire stock evaporates between 8:30 and 8:40 as if a bus of competitive eaters pulls up every morning and I have simply never seen it.
I have tried arriving at 8:25. The door is locked and there is a man inside who looks at me the way you look at a cat that has learned to open cupboards. At 8:30 the door opens and by the time I reach the counter the tray that held the seeded loaves holds a single crumb and a note that says “more at 11”. More at 11 is not a bakery, it is a rumour.
Here is my modest proposal: bake more bread. I know. Revolutionary. I understand there is dough and proving and ovens and the whole thing is a schedule, but the schedule is wrong, and the evidence is the crowd of us standing outside at 8:41 holding nothing.
I will be back tomorrow at 8:25. I will stand with the cat-man. We will say nothing to each other. This is the social contract now.