South of the South
The bread aisle was always my favorite to go down when I was younger. The fresh scent of multigrain and berried breads gets caught in the drafts from an over-cooled grocery store and is noticeable immediately; much more pleasant than the stench of trapped city exhausts and wind streaming through the skyscraper-lined streets of Chicago. I know I’m not alone in enjoying this simple pleasure - I fondly remember speeding down the hilly area of Interstate 4 back to our side of Orlando after a long day of Disney park-hopping and resort-crashing, passing the Merita bread factory baking fresh bread every night. Windows down, noses up, breathing in deep and holding. The blaring Piebald now muted to allow each of us time to reflect on the fresh baking bread, the scent scanning each of our memories for its roots. Ahhhhhh, there it is.

The bread aisle was always my favorite to go down when I was younger. The fresh scent of multigrain and berried breads gets caught in the drafts from an over-cooled grocery store and is noticeable immediately; much more pleasant than the stench of trapped city exhausts and wind streaming through the skyscraper-lined streets of Chicago. I know I’m not alone in enjoying this simple pleasure - I fondly remember speeding down the hilly area of Interstate 4 back to our side of Orlando after a long day of Disney park-hopping and resort-crashing, passing the Merita bread factory baking fresh bread every night. Windows down, noses up, breathing in deep and holding. The blaring Piebald now muted to allow each of us time to reflect on the fresh baking bread, the scent scanning each of our memories for its roots. Ahhhhhh, there it is.

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3 years ago