(I did, but the bread did not survive the walk upstairs intact.)
Living in a gentrifying zone is paying off wonderfully. This morning, soup on the stove (courtesy of gracious Dorothy) and procrastinating, I found myself wanting for some bread in my bread-less apartment. So I put on a sweatshirt and rolled downstairs to the overpriced 'provision' store, where I picked up a loaf, still relatively fresh from the Cape this morning. (Note to self: the two blocks to the post box is too far to run to in a sweatshirt). I got my bread, chatted with the cashier lady, and skipped upstairs to my warm soup, brandishing the baguette all the way (it's an impossible impulse, how can anyone walk with a baguette and not want to sword fight?). It's dangerous living above fancy cheeses, breads, and chocolate (and cured meats!), but it's a danger I was born to take on.
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