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A Life of Pennies and Bread
Chapter 1: A Man in a Suit

Chapter 1: A Man in a Suit

Chapter 1: A Man in the Suit

             The vibrant ringing of the small bell atop the door oppressed the room in a somber, depressing mood that reminded me of the expectations of amiability that was always needed throughout the long hours of the workday. The loud ringing from the opening of the door was always followed by a new, usually impatient, customer that did not speak much, and ordered quickly, before returning to their own lives, struggles and feelings that corroded at the spirit of every working man that visited my shop. Yet, the man that followed was not of my expectations, rather, he seemed to be a man that would rarely partake to coming to an establishment such as mine. His potent, lustful-like cologne that wafted from his cleanly washed, business-like suit, clashed against the aroma of freshly baked bread, creating a duality of tension between a man of distinguishable income, and a man that was scraping for substance baking copious amounts of bread.

             The man drenched in cologne, with a dapper mustache and fanciful, cleanly-cut hair stood at the counter in a way many businessmen do, with a wide legged, broad shouldered stance that commanded respect and assurance from the discussee he happened to stumble across. His golden watch gave a miniscule crash against the glass of the counter, a sound that almost sounded like the faint cracking of glass. It was with this sound, despite the loudness of the doorbell, that I left my duties from the kitchen, and approached the counter in the greeting hall of the restaurant.  

             When approaching this man, I noticed his eyes darted in impatience, hurriedly scanning the room for the next second, the next minute for time to pass, for time to allow him to order his bread and leave, and to get on, with what I can imagine, a tedious 9 to 5 job at management, a man tempted to climb higher yet content with the income he already possesses; a man stricken with the duality of climbing higher, or succumbing to a rewarding yet stagnant lifestyle. At least he was rewarded with that choice.

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             I approached him, my hands covered in starchy dough that crystalized into a hardened coat over my hands, making my fingers strenuous to move as I clutched the towel that hung over the center pocket of my brown, stained apron. As I moved from the kitchen to the counter to greet the presence of the man, his perfume and stature only grew, until his height reached well above 5 inches from my own. A truly astonishing man that gave me chills when I was in his presence.

             I asked him what will he be having, along with giving him the special assortments of bread that was available at a reduced cost, which included, mostly French style rye and dough bread, that fancied many of the working folk for its cheaply yet sophisticated manner, due to its country of origin. The man shook his head, and stood silent for a while more. I stood, every-so diligently, awaiting a vocal or physical reaction that felt like days to draw out.

             I dared not leave in his presence, for both the reasons of his own respectable nature, and of my own. Every person that had communicated with such a distinguished man, greeted with the aristocratic garb granted by the capitalistic  society around us, would not dare to leave a presence that commanded such admiration from strangers. It was also in my own interest, that I dare not leave my sentry position at the counter, as to not deteriorate my own respectability, not as a working man, but as an owner of a bakery. In our own ways, our commands for respectability, while different in marginal ways, did not falter in the other’s presence.

             The man stood there, looked around and walked out. As he walked, his broad shoulders that commanded respect merely seconds before turned into a shell of narrowness, and his stature proved to be miniscule and weakly comparatively to the giant of capita that stood before me. He left, and I returned to my duties in the kitchen. A distinction between me and him was made, and yet neither said a word. It was as if the stillness of the air spoke for us, in a dialect only strangers could understand.

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