pancakes and pork buns

Chloe awoke peacefully early on Saturday morning, just as the sun was breaking over the tops of the Lower East Side high rises. Sunlight flooded her bedroom, and she lay there, well rested and relaxed, luxuriating in the soft cloud of her bed covers, like she used to do as a child on similar Saturday mornings in Florida. There, she would lay until the smell of the pancakes her mother was making for breakfast wafted into her room. But there would be no pancakes today. Only a baked pork bun and 60 cent coffee in a paper cup.