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But then—ugh—some pimp rolls up. Greasy hair, gold chain, struttin’ like he’s king. Hate showoffs. “You pay me first,” he snaps. I’m like, “Buddy, I pay the lady.” He gets in my face, breath like a landfill. Reminds me of Cathy’s husband, Frank, all bluster and lies. “I’m trying so hard to please you,” Frank’d whine. Please me? Shove off, slick. I shove this pimp instead—hard. He stumbles, Candy cheers. Felt good, real good.

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So, I’m kneading this dough, and I’m sweating bullets. It’s hot in there! I’m thinking, “Why do I do this?” But then, I remember the faces of my regulars. They come in, and their eyes light up when they see the fresh bread. That’s why I do it.

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