The bell on a Sunday

The bakery behind the market is closed on Sundays. Still, at a quarter past nine, two windows in the street open, and stay open for a minute, and close again. I watched it happen three Sundays running. Nobody was waiting for bread. They were waiting for the bell, out of habit, and when it did not ring they went back to their mornings a little disappointed and, I think, a little reassured that the week had a shape.