I stare at the sign that hangs on the rusty post. "Papi's Bakery'. I missed this place so much. It had only been closed for two years, but it felt like a slow eternity.

Papi had been the best grandfather ever. I could remember when I was little, how I would always come here after school. He would let me pick out something from the top shelf. I would always choose the Red Velvet cupcakes. He would also let me help him bake. I loved to watch his crafted hands stir the heavenly mixture of sweet ingridients together. The icing was the best part. We'd mix the soft cream cheese inwith the fine suagrs. After we would finish, we'd be covered in flour..covered in memories.

I looked into the dusty windows of the bakery. It was dark and deserted. The table in the back corner was blanketed with a large white sheet. That table meant the world to me. Papi and I would sit at that table talikng about school, and how one day I would be all grown up. I missed every single word we shared together at that table.

Talking was always fun. His thick Italian accent always seemed to make me listen. He was a great man, and a wonderful baker.

A tear slides down my freckled face, but I quickly wipe it away. This story started at the bakery, and ended at the bakery. AS I walk down the busy Brooklyn streets, I think about Papi. In Heaven he was probably making Red Velvet cake. I missed that cake, but I still had memories.. and that was the sweetest thing ever.