Hungarian Pastry Shop, NYC detail

The boy at the counter up front announces he is Turning Five July 29.

Las mismo, the Argentine two tables up exclaims.

A redhead in a dropped-shoulder blouse shines at the window:

earphones in, attacks a baklava. The boy hoisted up by his father

cries into his collar. The woman behind the counter

produces and hands over a Rainbow Cookie. The boy consoles himself;

the father wears navy linen, glasses, and a backpack; two platters

of prune hamentaschen float through the saloon doors.

“Sammy, I love you,” their bearer calls over the counter. Her coworker,

not looking up, wiping glass cases down, slowly: “I love you too.”