I walked toward the Brooklyn Bridge Bakery, I walked toward chocolate cake.
On the door a sign said closed for holiday, impatiently jiggling the handle I pressed my nose against the window in hope of being noticed, in hope of being noticed so an exception to the rule would be made.
For God’s sake it was my birthday, every year I’d drive into the city to get my cake and make no mistake, it was my cake. A 12 layer chocolate confection, filled inside with liquid ooze so decadent, so luxurious it mashed your taste buds into submission and usually rendered you speechless.
I walked toward the bridge wondering if I might fling myself into the river. I wasn’t depressed but I needed that cake, I needed to taste, to experience the overpowering delight in each bite and then fall into the arms of the Goddess that flows into your soul in subtle waves of ecstasy.
I needed to be part of something beyond my pitiful existence. I craved visiting feelings you could only find in a shangri-la of dark gooey sticky slippery velvety chocolate. I turned on my heels and headed back to the store, at least for today the demon inside would not coax me to the rivers edge.
Back at the Bakery I kicked the door muttering something about seeing them in hell and walked back to my car where I typed Ben & Jerry’s, Waterbury Vt into the GPS. The factory tour would have to suffice this year.