Flavors of a Dream
Apple. Cinnamon. Apple. Cinnamon. Dough. Apple. Cinnamon. Dough.
It had memories in it.
Something my mom would make.
Or perhaps something I’d try to make and burn.
“So…how’s it taste?”
I wanted to think more, but an interruption broke my thoughts.
“Sweet at times, but some areas felt oddly bitter. Yet, I liked it. The crust was very dry however.”
“Damn. I really thought I perfected it…Well, feel free to stop by again sometime! Thanks for shopping!”
Ah, this was a confusing shopkeep.
“What’s up with getting a customer to try your pie?”
“I dream about baking. I’ve been diligently perfecting every one of my recipes, the only one I can’t seem to master is an apple pie. But when I do, then I’ll open up my shop.”
“And it’ll be popular?” This town wasn’t exactly buzzing with residents, nor does it seem like a go to tourist spot.
“Does that matter? All I want is for me to be able to run with my dream.”
“Which is owning a bakery?”
“No, it’s making people feel something through what I do.”
“You have costs to cover with a bakery.”
“And?”
“The town isn’t big enough, most people here probably won’t need one.”
“And?”
“Well, think about how realistic it is.”
The shopkeep had begun to frown at my constant statements.