It's the eight floor. There is an aroma coming from my window. It is that freshly baked smell that comes from a just made pastry. Enticing. Attractive. I see a light in electrical emptiness. People are coming like flies to a venus flytrap. But I am a fly too, so jumping on the bandwagon is no suprise. After checking my space and grabbing my jacket, I take my leave to the diner.
Outside, on the ground, the smell is much stronger and the people number greater than I saw. The line is as expected, long. Is the wait worth it? I count thirty six people in the dinner. Policemen are jumping the line. Thankfully, the diner had some size, those loose objects on their possession were in the range of none. In any case, I was prepared; metal detectors would not have caught me. A man stands dazed in front of me. He is at the front of the line. After he leaves, I order a cookies and cream pie, sugars seem to be more appealing to my diet as of late. Once I recieve my pie, I take a seat at the same table as the man I saw before. I savor every last bite of my pie.
Emilio is tapped on the shoulder and shakes his head to return to reality. The sounds of forks clinking and light chatter once again fill his head and a darkly-dressed Asian man whispers, "I think you're up." Emilio looks in front of him into the inquisitive, smiling eyes of a young waitress. "What would you like sir?" she asks. "Ummm... an apple pie please?" he mumbles. She charges him for the pie and he receives his slice, carrying it and his mysterious box with him to a table in the back. Sitting down, he stares at the steaming, gooey, sweet slice of heaven in front of him.
ReplyDeleteHe takes his fork, sighs deeply, and sinks the metal into his slice. Bringing the slice to his mouth, tears flow down his cheeks in joy. The Asian man who was behind him in line sits down across from him, too engulfed in thoughts about his own slice of pie to notice the Italian silently weeping across from him.
Lucky had just finished NOT EATING in the diner and walked through the kitchen, speeding up when the cook saw his tail and thought it would be a good idea to chase him. Seemed like a pattern wherever Lucky went, no matter what he did, he was always being chased out or yelled at. Funny how people discriminate against the outdoor dogs of the city. He walked down the alley and suddenly smelled heaven. He hadn't smelled pie since he lived with his owner, who baked daily. He had grown up with this smell, a smell that he had come to associate with home, something he hadn't thought about in a looooong time. He walked to the main street and saw a line of humans lining up for something, but he didnt know what that something was. It looked like a Village People revival, firemen, policemen, construction workers and the like, lined up for something that lucky had to see. He started at a walk, but soon started running, why , he did not know, but a the time he felt like he needed to run. For once lucky was running after something rather that being chased. He got the front of the line and hit a wall of pie aroma. He was in a daze, in a land he hadnt been to in a while, a land of pie with wings and crowds of village people waiting. It was peaceful. It was quiet. It was pie.
ReplyDeleteI get into the car and I pass by the diner only to see a line going all around the corner.Policemen are jumping the lines, children are pulling on their mother's dresses impatiently waiting. I look into the window and see a man receive what looks like cookies and a cream pie. I remember the days of standing in the line with Ruth, joking about what kind of pie we would order for that day.
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