Between the smell of all the bread, and the feeling of being a little kid along for the ride for your parent’s thing, there’s an energy/memory/nostalgia that seems to be part of the collective consciousness.
Your few paragraphs evoked this feeling, along with the particular visual experience, quite profoundly.
I feel like capturing that is pretty rare, and it usually ends up in someone’s book of poems, or on those public news radio hours where they read short stories aloud.
Keep writing!
