It was the canvas tote I always took to the Sunday farmers market.

“Margaret and I are just finishing up these scones,” I said.

“We can slide them into the oven right now.”

Vanessa reached over and pulled the red string.

She lifted the lid of her box.

Inside were six enormous muffins covered in a thick sugar glaze.

“I just prefer things from the bakery,” Vanessa said.

She picked up my metal baking sheet of unbaked scones.

She walked over to the stainless steel trash can and stepped on the pedal.

The lid flipped up.

The raw dough slid off the pan and dropped into the garbage with a heavy thud.

Margaret quit drumming her nails.

I stared at the empty baking sheet in Vanessa’s hand.

“Those were meant for our breakfast,” I said.