Sunday February 9, 2020
Nothing Like It Was
Yara takes the cake out of the fridge and examines the crumb layer. She’s only partially satisfied. Could’ve gotten it even smoother. Freshly shaved legs. Velvet curtains. She closes her eyes. She takes the butter cream and dollops it on the top. She’s listening to Chopin, loud. She spreads and spins, spreads and spins, just like she always does. She wonders who is going to eat this chocolate explosion, who will savour and chew the goodness she’s made. She thinks about this person, this family, and how they won’t have ever tasted something better. She knows she should charge more, but she wants to keep decadence affordable, at least until her first year of business.