The Virtue of Marmalade and Caprice

There I was.

At the top of the stairs leading out of the underground parking.

In one minute I would have to choose a door. I spun around the glass enclosed platform to get an idea of where I was at and in which direction I needed to go.  To my right was the farmer’s market platz in front of the church.  To my left an unobstructed view.  It was then I saw the woman and her baskets tumbling across the ground.

It would have been easy to take the door to the right and avoid the obstruction.  I hesitated for a moment but a moment later I walked out the door on the left and bent down to help.  My German is still sporadic and infantile but it was not necessary to pick up the jars of jam and marmalade.

Another lady also appeared and assisted with the fallen goods.  I turned to the cash box and picked up the fallen Geld. I picked up the euros until something was spoken and I understood enough to realize she was saying Thank you… and something else.  Probably something along the line of ‘I can take it from here’ because that’s when she picked up the cash box.

not your favorite crayon

I waved a friendly Tschüss and went on my way to a lovely French Café across the street.  Where the company of fellow writers awaited to eagerly discuss our plans for NaNoWriMo.  I was fashionably late but nothing a delicious macaron wouldn’t soon smooth over.  An hour later I walked out with a better idea of how I would start on Sunday, a name for the main character, and a gift of bread in my arms. A gift that demanded the companionship of cheese from a nearby vendor.  Apparently nothing less than the creamy whim of the gods would satisfy.

The question was, of which would I have a harder time sharing… the bread or the Caprice?

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