I pulled out my 4-year old iPod from my knapsack,
Scrolled in circular and pressed to play, Flowers In Your Hair by The Lumineers.
The smell of freshly baked pandesal joined the breeze.
Buying in some without a pang of hesitation.
For the smell is always included into use for our taste buds,
How heavenly it is when the room smells like butter.
Then I saw you with a newspaper in your hand with a bag of pandesal in the other.
You gestured yourself with the bag by your hand
I smiled and said, “No, thank you.”
I turned my back and walked out of the bakery,
Setting the volume of the iPod to max when I got inside my jeep.