So there they were. New friends. Squeezed onto The World's Tiniest Balcony. Weak.winter.sun. Fingerless.gloved.hands wrapped around bowls of steaming coffee.Talking about dreams and plans.
What I really want to do, she said, what I will do when I have some money, is open a bakery. Not just any bakery. It will have amazing bread. And tubs of real butter on the tables.
And that's all. (Just bread and butter.)
Will you have coffee? I asked.
No, she replied. Coffee here always comes out of gross orange machines like my parents used to own and it tastes bad.
Just bread and butter. (perfect.)
