So . . . turn left where again?
The secret bakeries of Firenze
I shrugged out of my jacket for the third time that night, fighting off my pissed off temper that was being endlessly subjected to the hot-cold nonsense of the post-midnight air.
I trudged down yet another crooked alley way tired, blurry-eyed and hungry. I stopped and looked around, trying to figure out where I actually was. Crooked stone streets, crooked stone sidewalks, crooked stone walls, all leading leading me through the unsolvable city maze of the old city center — I was as close to being lost as was possible, luckily still able to tell which general direction to take towards the river.
But I could smell it, that goddamn warm, sweet, chocolate waft that would periodically drift through the stone tunnel and prod me into continuing on.
I couldn’t really remember who told me about the bakeries first. The ones that would open up in the middle of the night, catering to the sober nightlife in need of a pick-up, and shut down the second a slobbering drunk even stumbled near their door. I had already taken a nap, and had a free day, today actually, so I just slipped on my jacket once again and tried to follow my sniffling nose.
I was past pissed off, past tired, past trying at all to be honest. My shoes had started to hurt on my way uphill, so as I took a seat on the steps, I reached down and unlaced my shoes, pulled off my socks and rolled by aching feet across the icy stone steps that led down from Piazza Michelangelo.
The inky-black night was slowly being saturated with the warm reds and blues of the sunrise, lighting up the red roof, golden domes, and calm curving river that spread out in the mountainous cradle below.
I took a deep breath, and watched my breath’s fog swirl away.
“Would you like a cup?”
I jumped a little at the voice and looked up to a curly-haired girl, bundled to the nines in a fuzzy red scarf, as she held out a small plastic cup filled to the brim with what I could only assume was the season’s last cioccolata calda.
“Thank you,” I said, taking the cup delicately with my fingertips, careful not to spill. “Would you like to sit with me for a little while? The sun is almost up.”
“Sure,” she said, her eyes smiled at me even though her mouth was covered by the scarf. “It’s good to have a little company and here a little English to start off the day.”
I sipped at the scalding drink, my now sleep deprived brain completely contented with a single strangers gesture.
“Yeah, and chocolate too.” I squinted as the sun broke over the horizon and the chocolate lovingly burned its way down the back of my throat.
She laughed in agreement, “Chocolate too.”
