Day 2

Imagine the scents and sights of a bakery and write.

Colin rolled each dough ball slowly, his knotted hands aching. He forgot to take the arthritis medicine last night. It's not like it did much to dull the pain anyway, he thought. Ever since Helena died, he couldn't remember the little things. They just didn't seem that important. The work was, though, and he moved methodically through the process, breathing in the familiar smell of yeast. He had already mixed the dough to the right consistency, adding in a little bit of crushed clove to taste as he went, the "secret ingredient" that his customers raved about. He glanced out the window, and remembered the day that he had bought the shop from it's previous owner. It had taken him four months, and no small amount of blood and sweat, get the inside remodeled to exactly how he wanted it, but when that 'Grand Re-Opening' sign went up, people wound around the block to come taste his Morning Special Bagels. A sigh escaped him. There hadn't been a line like that in years, although he still did a good business. All the dough balls had sat for long enough now. He enjoyed looking at them, each one remarkably similar but subtly different, like a litter of puppies or a collection of flowers. He punched a small hole in the middle of each ball, then began to season the outside with poppy, caraway and sesame seeds, plus salt, garlic and onion. He knew a lot of bakers thought he was simple-minded for seasoning them before boiling and baking, but he had learned long ago that the flavor would seep into the dough, and he knew it was flavor, not advertisements or promotional schemes, that kept customers coming back. As he slid the first round of bagels into the oven, he wiped his gnarled digits on his apron and glanced around with pale blue eyes at his little shop. The upholstery was fading, sure, and maybe the chromium that lined the tables and chairs wasn't as shiny as it was 30 years ago, but he kept his business clean. Who could say he didn't? For the first time in almost 4 years, he paused from the long list of things he had to do to before opening and buttered a piece of rye bread. He frowned at his hands. They hadn't always shook like that, dammit. Another sigh slid from his mouth. Maybe he should let Arnie buy his business. His son was a dreamer, but he could manage it. Shaking his head, he put thoughts of the future to the back burner and moved to the cutlery drawer, pulling out utensils to start making his famous Colin's Twist Donut. Tomorrow was a mystery, but in a couple hours, he knew people would be hungry.