There’s been a run on toast, and Blondi’s freezer is empty. There’s no wangling out of baking bread, even on this crisp bright day when ovens are wisely left cool.
The scent of it has already warmed the café and Blondi is reminded of some of her favourite things about summer: she gets to wear skimpy clothes comfortably, to sleep naked, to sit on the balcony in the evening and watch the moon appear and the stars peek.
This stretch of weather takes her back to the bike-riding days of childhood, when every street and alley in the village was a thoroughfare for her and her buddy, all day, every day when there was no rain or school.
Her biking buddy has long grown and gone, married with grandchildren and living in the city. But in Blondi’s mind, he is just out building a tree fort while she shapes dough into loaves in the kitchen they revolved around as children.