I was in my home town this weekend, and I passed this building. I told D a story about it from when I was a kid, and he told me it was “the saddest story ever” and that I should take a picture and post it here. While I am certain it IS NOT the saddest story ever, I figured I would oblige.

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When I was in late elementary school, my family didn’t have much money, and so I rarely ate breakfast, because we rarely had anything. I eventually got used to this and was never hungry for breakfast. This worked fine as my elementary school was near me, and I walked to school. But after fourth grade, the city built three new schools, turned my elementary into a junior high, and redrew the lines for who attended which school. My new school was far enough away that I needed to take the bus for the first time in my life. Which wasn’t the end of the world, but my bus passed by this building daily—it was a bread bakery, and always emitted a smell of hot-buttered toast. It made me so hungry every morning. I cursed that stupid bread bakery for addling my forced no-breakfast routine.