Fenrir Cerebellion

Something weird and maybe melancholy about sitting in the rain city, on the one day of rain in the otherwise climate-fucked too-hot summer, eating a croissant you realize a lil late is the one you used to make at that one bakery. But I don't live here anymore so maybe less melancholy and more freedom, except freedom sure as shit doesn't taste like this. This tastes like 4am day-olds for breakfast while clocking into work, like the rest of the pastries frozen together in your freezer after prying one out to reheat, like the butter and sugar and almond powder filling whose ratio you that still remember is a little disconcerting to think about but hey, you're eating it.