strange · 2026.10.26
The coins were already stacked on the counter when I slid the first loaf across, and Mr. Okafor counted them without looking up, thumb moving like a metronome. The bakery smelled of burnt sesame and the faint bleach they used on the floor tiles each morning at half five. My hands were still cold from the walk down Calder Street, where the gutters ran with something that wasn't quite water.