Other day, while I was tooling about on some errands, I passed a pickup pulling a small, open, fence-sided trailer. The truck’s bed and the trailer were piled high with loaves and loaves and loaves of bread.
And not stacked on trays. Piled. In great heaping mounds of brightly wrapped bread.
The pickup turned off quickly and I couldn’t have veered off after it without cutting off a lane of oncoming traffic. But I wanted to. I wanted to chase him down and ask the driver, what gives?
Was he hoarding?
Was he planning to sell his stash on ebay?
What I was hoping---still am hoping---is he was coming from a supermarket or outlet store, that the loaves were day old and had been donated, and he was on his way to a shelter or a soup kitchen where all that bread was going to be torn up into Wonder croutons for stuffing a hundred Thanksgiving turkeys twice as big as Tiny Tim.