I walked back
to my tiny
cramped apartment.
Faces of people,
swarming past,
to and fro.

I then spot
something shiny on the floor.
My eyes grew as wide as saucers.
“A whole quarter!” I thought.
Like a child,
I looked around first,
then picked it up, and went to the nearest store.

“Hmm… that bakery looks peaceful enough...”

Suppressing my excitement,
I coolly step inside,
my eyes browsing
the many aisles,
sweets in packages,
cakes in boxes,
and the food,
gleaming in their places,
among the glass displays.
When I walked in,
the little bell jingled,
delicious smells wafting into my face.
Some eyes looked up,
including the pair of an elderly man’s,
and some look down again.
I stroll over to the countertop
where the old man was,
eyes glinting like brightly polished stones,
and a beard that seemed like tufts of cotton.
He was doing some calculations
(Why?--I don’t know)
and looked,
his eyes meeting mine.
I give him a nod.
He still was briefly looking up from his work,
sensing my curiosity,
and smiling at me,
as if I was a child.

A bit annoyed by this look,
I strode down the aisles,
fingers tracing the outlines of
the objects,
them seeing
with their little eyes.

My eyes flicker around endlessly,
searching,
until at last
when I found something.
A small, boxed cake,
chocolate,
vanilla frosting on the sides,
with white, sugary powder
dusted over the top of it.
And placed around the top of the cake,
were mandarins.
I picked up the box
paced bit by bit over to the countertop,
and placed it in front of a cashier.
(apparently, the other one was taking a break.)
He looks up from his newspaper.
“Dime.” he grunts.
I took out my found quarter,
he took the box.
I gave him the quarter,
then he passed a small bag to me,
setting it on the countertop.
While he briefly glanced at the coin,
I took a quick peek at the bag’s insides.
He passes my change while I straighten myself up.
“Thank you.” I replied
“‘Welcome.” he mumbled.
I walked out the door,
then sauntered on.

I climb up the stairs to my apartment,
enter the building,
open the door with my jangling keys,
plop onto the floor near my desk
and lied down on the floor for a moment.
Then I sat up,
opened the bag,
took it off,
then pushed it aside.
I then pulled the pink ribbon slowly,
watching it unravel,
watching the colorful tissue paper fall,
and the box, unfolding on its own.

I grabbed a plate on the table,
and the plastic disposable knife
(that came with the cake),
and smoothly (and lightly!) cut for myself
one generous slice of cake
that held one mandarin.

I pierce the mandarin with my fork,
swirl it onto the frosting,
then slowly chew it,
thinking.
The taste reminding me,
making me reminiscence
about the past.
When our family
ate cake together,
My sisters and I
with frosting on our noses,
us all begging our parents for more,
(who in turn gave us theirs)
When my sisters and I fought over
mandarins
on the cake.