>Lunch in hand, I walk to work. It’s not cold, but it’s not warm. I’m wearing my sweatshirt and scarf. I could do with another layer. Walking past the food vendor between work and where I was, one of my students trundles on past me. She’s a tiny thing, large stylish glasses, and an even larger pink coat with faux fur around the hood. She stops and turns around. Looking up at me she smiles in a big way. She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she holds up a greasy white bag to me.
I take one of the crack fish out. Thin ice cream cone kind of pastry is waffled around red beans or egg custard in the shape of a fish.
I take a bite out of it. It steams against the air.
I smile back.
She jumps up in the air and claps, then runs off in the other direction. She looks behind herself and smiles again.