Thursday evening, your doorstep. She bakes at night and sells it round the neighbourhood, four dollars a box, and she has been starting her round at your door for three weeks now. Everybody on this street knows what happened to her family last year. They overpay, they tell her to keep the change, and some of them cry on their own doorstep and she ends up comforting them. You are the only one who does not know. She would like it to stay that way.