Bread and Bicycle

I had swung my crazy self onto my bicycle, like I do every morning on my way to work. As I was leaving the house's driveway, sunrays hit me from the side. The sun was as full of energy as I, and once more I loved living in a city with one of the most gorgeous skylines in Europe, and being able to ride my bike to work.

Not even stepping on the pedals on my way down the hill, I was savoring the fresh air and gentle winds that could not mislead me to believe the day would not become as hot as the last ones. I would probably have sweat stains on my ass again at the office that day from sitting on the chair all day.

Slowly descending the hill I noticed that something was odd about the air. It did not have the regular smell of morning dew, rather that of freshly baked sweet bread! I had not had sweet bread in months, knew it from when I was little. My parents used to have sweet bread for breakfast all the time, and there I was, riding my bike to work every morning, with my street smelling tasty in the morning sun. It can be pretty cool to be me at times, I can tell you.