pastry walk.

I open my eyes slowly, the latent dreams gluing them shut.
8am. Perfect.

The virgin sun peeks a curious head through the shutters, warming my cheek awake with a smile. The shower calls my name, I can hear the echo reverberating in the hallway. I decline after a long moment's temptation. Besides, the rolls are probably just now getting out of the oven and the croissants' flaky crust is going to turn to mush if i take the extra fifteen minutes. I throw on some black jeans. Skinny fit. Levi's 511's. Grab a white v neck tee shirt from the roster of neatly pressed cotton linen cutlets hanging in my closet. Medium. Fits a little tight nowadays... especially in the chest and upper arms. I opt against a sweater and throw on a new Old Navy peacoat over the white tee shirt. It's not too big for me anymore. I throw on a pair of black shoes... vans. always vans. My sunglasses offer me a friendly, beckoning smile through its lenses. I laugh a teacher's laugh and tell them to come on because we're going on a mission. I grab my keys and head out of my studio apartment, my feet undoubtedly waking old man Cranston downstairs in 16. Better than him being woken up by the fighting couple in 8, I guess.

The hallway is stagnant and stale. This place really needs an overhaul makeover. I exit the glass paned double doors and enter into the world dressed to kill. Everything is bright and smiling on this sunday morning. The remnants of blizzards past melt upon the sidewalk. Cars speed through the intersection down the street at Washington Plaza. My sunglasses and I smile to each other and giggle, excited children on a field trip.

Ramon's face is happy and jubilant and he is humming a salsa or a bossa tune as he takes a batch of blueberry croissants out of the german imported Grumman oven. I hastily grab a Strawberry Croissant and a cup of fine coffee and head out, carrying the souvenir of the same tune Ramon was humming. Nothing else matters, everything is right in the world.

I see you. Arm in arm with him. Our eyes do some silent negotiating with each other through false smiles and tangible thoughts. Five years' happiness and hate and sorrow and dormant love uproots through my croissant and out. The false smile stays on my face, and I cant figure out why. My sunglasses cover my eyes in a shielding attempt to protect me. You look beautiful. You look so beautiful. My smile is still there, and I suddenly realize that it isn't fake. It is implicit. Understated. Collected. It is the smile of a man who knows what he has and what he is. And I am proud to say that I am the owner of it. That I wield such confidence, of all people. For years, I thought of this moment; seeing you randomly with somebody else while I am alone. I see that you are not happy with him. You see that I am happy alone, by myself. I want you to mutter something silently secret to me, even if I dont hear it. Just to see your lips succumb to your heart. You don't. The doe eyes I once knew go back to grazing.

I walk back home, smiling happily to myself the whole way, eating a fine, authentic croissant, drinking fine, home-brewed coffee. It is sunday and I have the whole day off and nothing to do. life couldnt be better. I put season one in the dvd player and press play and make it feel like its happening all over again and again and again.