I walk alone through the black
downtown streets - everything is shiny from the rain. People look up as I walk by and I see a face that I think I know... but I'm wrong. It's not him.
Red streetcars and yellow taxis pass, their paint looking extra glossy. The brightly lit galleries, stores, restaurants and bars are full of interesting happenings for a Saturday night.
The pastry shop that I walk into is playing post-punk and some people are there boredly drinking espressos.
"Could I please have those?" I ask in a whisper, pointing to the small chocolate cake and tart. The sweet brown-haired guy picks them out for me with a smile.
The woman in front of me starts chatting about the best things this place has to offer. Suddenly, a long-haired pastry chef comes out from the back.
"The only nut in the pie that you want is a coconut," he says to the people behind me.
"I don't think that is really a nut," I say quietly.
The brown-haired guy takes my money and smiles again. I look down as I take the white box he packed for me. He follows me closely as I walk out the door but he stays inside.
I walk home and rip open the box and need to put the entire small chocolate cake into my mouth immediately. I know that I can eat it in two bites if I eat it the way they do in pie-eating competitions. But no... I better use a fork. It's nicer that way.