35
She ate a sandwich for lunch, cheese and tomatoes on freshly baked bread, sitting on a bench under a young tree with the sun directly overhead, then felt like an i***t for selecting a meal that was over so quickly.
Efficiency was not something she needed to strive for any longer. Why did she keep forgetting that?
The bread had been as good as she could ever remember, though, and for lack of anything better to do, she decided to find the bakery it came from. Everything was made here somewhere, she figured. In keeping with the image of the place—sustainable, pseudo-small-town living—it had to be.
She set off down the street, walking along the side of it cast in shadow. The sun was not really hot enough on this winter afternoon to drive her into the shade, but sometimes making a choice
