Gemotions

The aroma of freshly baked bread usually drew her in. Now, the bakery was dark, the windows covered with brown paper. She had been a regular at "The Daily Loaf" for decades. Every morning, she would stroll over, buy a baguette, and chat with the baker.

She stood across the street. The paper fluttered in the breeze. She turned to leave, her shoulders slumped. Her morning ritual, now gone, seemed to have taken a piece of her with it.

She walked away, her footsteps slow and measured, her gaze fixed on the pavement. The world seemed a little less bright, a little less flavorful.