Shakespeare is a Bread Roll

Human decency dictates that a beautiful girl shouldn't wear a bread roll as a hat, particularly when working with the public.

It is not the bow in the girl's hair that makes her pleasant to look at, beautiful even, but it is this bow that I first noticed about her and that my eyes keep coming back to. It is a simple bow - pale pink and positioned slightly to the left of the girl's head, riding the tight swell of her hair, which she wears up in a kind of wispy bun while working.

The bow is not a bread roll.

But the girl is selling bread rolls, and every time I see the pink bow I imagine that the girl has put a bread roll on her head, and I am forced to look at it, despite or because of her beautiful face.

I have started a story with an observation about bread rolls, and now a bread roll has afflicted my story.

Next to me in the cafe is a boy, roughly five years old, talking to his friend about constructing an army of Lego. I imagine that he is called Fortinbras although his mother has just called him Archie. Now Shakespeare has infiltrated and afflicted my story; like Goethe said, Shakespeare is an overgrown tree that has stifled all of literature.

A bread roll to me is like Shakespeare was to Goethe.