The end of the street seemed so far away, Perhaps it was the faulty light, flickering And highlighting the absence of tourists, No one walked this way, not since the baker Moved two streets over, but the smell- The smell of bagels drowning in honey, The smell of butter Cuddling up to warm bread, These smells had not yet Escaped the concrete slabs And brick walls, And maybe that was enough To still linger, A faint whiff of pleasantry To persuade the day to go on Ever quicker.