After my night shift, I drove home through the empty exurbs. My phone was at 4%, and the free trial for my audiobook had just expired.
A handmade sign taped to a bakery window caught my eye: 'Fresh Pies — Closing Sale.' I hadn't seen it before. The shop was always dark.
I went in. An old woman behind the counter looked up like she hadn't expected anyone. 'I'm closing tomorrow,' she said.
I bought a peach pie for eight dollars. She wrapped it in wax paper, hands slow and careful. 'My last one,' she said.
I ate it in the car with the windows down. It was warm and sweet and perfect. That first bite — I'll never get it back. But I'm glad I was there for it.