The Friday Parcel

Quick footsteps upon rough pavement
rubber soles colliding with aged stone
pants brush, she walks quickly
around him, past her
weaving from left to right
trying to stay out of sight
She hardly glances right as she steps into the street
The brown paper crinkles under her arm
she adjusts her long package
it slips and she snatches it up
eyes darting around her as she bends over
she keeps walking
with even more haste
she buzzes in
taking the stairs at double
briskly down the tattered carpet
her feet move with fear
her key juts into the lock
not daring a moments pause
inside one door, there's just one more
keys fumbling, making sharp clicks against the old doorknob
turn twist push slide close lean
the narrow parcel leaps from her hand like
hot coal
and she leans against the door
standing
staring
at the brown paper bag
her heart pounding
her palms sweating
the end of the package has been torn
and she can see
just the tip
of a rounded brown baguette

all this for a loaf of bread?