She was craving a bag of jelly beans. As sometimes she still craved a pack of cigarettes to chain smoke, even though she’d quite a good thirty years ago.
She didn’t even like sweets very much. But there were days like this, when it was too warm for winter; when a mist hung in the air as if it were already March. When the grey permeated her apartment, and she felt too alone, hearing people rushing back and forth outside on the sidewalk, that sharp clatter of heels. Of people having somewhere to rush off to.
And she would crave that – the sickly sweet of her childhood. When the Easter Bunny used to hide jelly beans in all the nooks and crannies of the house she grew up in. The beans she’d miss could be found months later, melted and stuck to window sills or in a dusty corner of the spice rack. Finding those old jelly beans even way back then could make her feel nostalgic. As if already as a child, she was already feeling old.