Every few days we head over to our neighbourhood bakery (which happens to Polish) and buy a loaf of bread. These days the walk is mostly done by scooter. Once we are inside my daughter will ask me to pick her up so she can pay. The cashiers would always claim how cute she is and ask if they can give her a cookie, upon which I will say no thanks but a piece of bread would be nice.
Then we’ll slowly find our way back, bread in hand, past the block of hustle and bustle on Bedford Avenue, to our slightly calmer street where we always stop at the pet shop to say hi to the kittens. Little by little, she’s plucking up the courage to go inside but mostly we still stand outside and watch through the windows.