Flash Fiction: Baked Goods

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Angie Thompson did not work on Friday nights.

Danny Petzak knew this about her. Danny Petzak knew several things about Angie Thompson.

He knew she enjoyed crossword puzzles and snacking on pecans. He knew she had an aqua broach that she only wore with her matching mohair sweater. He knew the first thing she did when she arrived at the bakery every night was hang her denim jacket on a three-inch nail, located just beyond the swinging doors.

Danny knew all of Angie’s shirts were frayed at the cuff, that she rarely wore shoes behind the counter, that when the bakery wasn’t busy, she’d stare out the display window for hours at a time. He knew she watched reruns of Seinfeld every night at six-thirty, The Simpsons at seven, and Seinfeld again at seven-thirty. He knew Angie Thompson sang to herself when she thought no one else was listening, that she had difficulty lifting Hefty bags into the back alley dumpster, that once a week she’d wander across the street to the A-Plus Mini Market to buy a handful of Tootsie Rolls.  Continue reading →