I walked to work this morning behind a lady who was eating a chunk of baguette while headed towards the city. She dropped her bread in the middle of the street, cursed, then picked it up. It was just the final butt of the baguette, but she put it in her pocket. I watched her. She passed a trash can and didn’t chuck it in. Maybe she was saving it for a pet at home. Maybe she was going to eat it. I would’ve eaten it, it was only on the ground for a moment.
I followed her. I watched her cross the street. She had a long drapey black coat on with large pockets. She had thick glasses and terrible posture. She was listening to something through wired earbuds. Was it a podcast? Was she talking to someone on the phone, did she tell them about the bread? Did she even care about its fate or did she want to forget about it? She pushed her hand further into her pocket, leaving her hand in the pocket for the length of a block. Perhaps squeezing it. I bet it was soft.
We approached the library. By this point I was far off the path to my office. She didn’t stop to break bread with the seagulls surrounding the lawn. She exited the footpath and sat on a ledge.
She looked around. There was a high school group nearby but they were distracted.
She reached into her pocket.
She rustled around.
I stood behind the tree.
She took out the bread.
She took a bite.
I fucking knew it.