bread and butter

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.)