The sweet texture of fire

Keys, wallet, shoes, and a coat and out side he goes. Walking down the street he thinks of what is next and he decides that food would be a good idea. Something light but filling. Something to satisfy what really is not bothering him, his empty stomach, but he knows if he does not fill the beast will rumble later with pain and emptiness, funny that is how he sometimes feels, empty pain.

The bagel shop, yes that is what he wants, a sandwich, a good sandwich, one he always craves, no matter what time or what he is eating this one sandwich is almost everything to him, for some reason it speaks to him.

He walks inside; the smell of bread hits him like a brick wall, how romantic. He walks to the counter and looks at the different kinds of bagels; one that stands out with color is his decision. And he steps up to order, the attractive attendant knows him like the back of her hand, she turns around, grabs a bagel and turns back. She whips out her knife, cuts the bagel with out nicking her fingertips. He stares in aw while she puts everything that makes this dream of a sandwich come true. No words are spoken until it is time to exchange slight touches of fingertips for products of nurishment and meaningful paper.

She smiles at him and he smiles back, he wonders if she would make a good wife, if she is loving, and if he could love her the way he wants to. With everything in his heart, like once before, but he also wonders if he could ever do that again. But that is too much to really think about at this moment, in his hands in something that dreams can be made of, his holy sandwich. He picks his seat, right by the window, but not against it, it is to cold to sit there this season. He peals his coat off and places it on the chair back, scoots in and opens the paper that covers what he is now craving. Already cut in half, just like mom use to do, just the way he likes it, oh how he can just pick up a half and devour it, and life begins in his mouth. The taste of fire, sweet fire, the texture of it all mixes. A swallow and the feeling of warmth his stomach, and he looks out side, at the street, the back street behind the building. It is the fronts to some other back street buildings, usually nothing is going on but today, nothing his going on, he can look at a place that could be filled with people doing things, going places. He could be staging at hundreds of bustling people going places where he cannot, going to do tasks that seem important, they have a purpose. But he is looking at bare concrete and tar. Parked cars and sidewalks. How he enjoys the peacefulness of this part of the city, peace in the city, how rare!

Done with his sandwich he waists no time, the takes the paper that once held his dream and craving and makes it in to a ball. Makes his way to the trash and places the ball in its proper place. As we walks by the counter he nods at the attendant and she nods back, the though of the wife situation comes back into his mind, a sweet thought that he could save for later.

The craving is gone, but will come back, he could take another sandwich and eat it but why ruin what he has with what he believes in, with what brings him a little joy once and a while.