I watched a woman shape bagels at the corner deli. Day after day the window revealed her long fingers looping dough around her hand and rolling it on the counter until a round tube twirled in on itself and she dropped the circle into a pan of steaming water. The dough rose swollen and wet. Through her I saw faintly a girl in dark braids at a Wurlitzer turning pages faster and faster until the paper floated up in flakes, my hands holding to the treble clef, swinging above brick and tile through altostratus clouds, a red disc dimly visible.
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"Classic"
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