At two in the morning, the small bread shop on Third Street starts work. Mei Lin comes in from a stormy night. Rain hits the door, and the street is dark.
Mei does the night work. Her schedule starts late and ends early. She is not new. She has made bread here for nine years.
First, the flour. She carries heavy bags down to the storage room. The room is small, and it holds food for three days. She checks the storage room twice a night.
Then the mixer. Mei stirs the bread in a deep bowl. The machine is old, so she must stir by hand for ten minutes. Her arms hurt, but the work does not stop.
The construction next door blocks the road. One big truck cannot come in. So Mei drives to the shops herself and takes warm bread across town. On a stormy night, one slip on the wet road is easy. Her shoes are wet, so one step can slip. She drives slow, and she keeps both eyes on the road. The construction work does not stop the bread.
Late at night, a volunteer waits at the back door. She takes the last basket to a night kitchen. People there deserve a warm breakfast. Mei says the work is simple. “The town eats because someone does not sleep.”