A cake club is a brilliant idea. A big group of strangers bake cakes and bring them to a predetermined location. They stand around in a jittery mob as the cakes are lined up on a long counter.
They face the land of cakes, waiting and waiting for the moment of permission, that glorious moment when they are told the slicing and devouring can begin.
One baker has made a cake she has dubbed "the tower of sin." The crowd is noticeably thicker on the side of the room that is closest to this sweet monster.
Even when the first slices are piled onto small plates and the forks are made busy with stabbing and scooping, everyone still stands close to the cakes, ready to refill as soon as possible when plates are empty.
Time passes, more slices are eaten. People slow down, find a seat, aren't so quick to rush to cut another piece. The sugar buzz takes over their minds. They look at each other with dopey half grins, these strangers drunk on cake.
Good times, this whole cake business. Good times.
The End of the Day
9 hours ago