The chirping of the morning birds and shuffling of hurried feet were music to little Beth's ears. She hopped and skipped all the way to the local baker, as she had done everyday, moving along the rhythm of the sometimes-caring and sometimes-apathetic working city.
She scanned the fresh display of pastries in the shelves, in her innocent mind a treasure chest for the mouth. Strawberry and blueberry muffins. Cinnamon and chocolate rolls. Sugary donuts. Buttery bread.
But every trip to the treasure ended the same. Little Beth would desire the luscious baked creations but would only acquire yesterday's stale breads.