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.