We go to the bakery daily when there is one within a shouting distance, but even after a decade we haven’t quite mastered the dark art of carrying baguettes so they don’t arrived damaged in some way.
It’s imprinted on the DNA of the locals. They wander home seemingly without a care, coddling their loaves like the precious commodity they are. For the purpose of the journey at least, bread and man are one. They never suffer the careless breaks and squashes mid-loaf from holding them in one hand (isn’t that what the paper wrap is for?), nor do their loaves arrive with the ends missing from being scraped against doors and shopfittings while leaving the bakery, or flattened and bent from being tucked just a fraction too tightly into the shopping bag.
Perhaps if like them, we got into the habit of carrying a spare, we’d have a chance of getting one of them home intact.
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