Brooklyn, New York

The lights were still on in the streets of Bensonhurst, at 3:00 a.m.  The ray of light from the lamp post outside the house, sneaked through the small hole in the window shade pulled down in Antonio Maggio’s bedroom.  He opened his eyes, and stretched his legs that had become stiff from the nights sleep.  He turned away from Maria and got out of the warm bed, quietly as to not wake her, and slipped into his trousers.  He kissed Maria gently, as he did every morning when he arose, and she would stir acknowledging his sweet touch.

Maria had set out the pot on the stove to boil the water for his coffee the night before. A ritual she performed every evening before she went to bed for over thirty years, since she married Antonio, the baker.   The house was quiet except for the sounds that were heard outside.   Antonio looked at his watch, it was 3:10 am and he knew the sound of the milkman, whose horse clip- clopped along the street delivering the milk, only stopping to set down the bottles of milk at each doorstep. This was a familiar sound to Antonio and his neighbors in the early morning before daylight and his watch could be checked each morning at the same time.   Antonio would open the front door, shoeless with the belt of his pants unfastened and looked around. He then would pick up the bottle of milk from the front steps and place it in the icebox in the kitchen, but not before he skimmed the cream on the top for his coffee. 

Every day was the same for Antonio. He prepared his coffee, stirring several spoons of sugar in it.  As he stirred he thought about the day ahead of him.  His body was tired. He rubbed his gray stubble beard and knew he had to shave again this morning.  So many years starting each day the same way was now a ritual.

He and Maria spent the past years without a vacation or break in the routine.

It seemed each morning he was thinking of the years he worked so hard and he was not getting any younger.  He was getting slower and slower each day and as he dressed he looked into the mirror and saw an old man, stubble beard and wrinkles around his eyes. He scratched his tousled hair and he wondered how much longer he could do this.   He shaved as he did every day, washed his face and combed his hair. He put on the clean shirt put out the night before and finished dressing.  He made his way to the bakery each morning at 4:00 am and began his day of bread baking for the neighborhood.

While Antonio walked to the bakery each morning from his home a few blocks away, Antonio would do his thinking in the quiet of the day.

He thought, “I have done well.  My family has a nice home; my bakery is the only one for blocks around, so the neighborhood people all come to me for their daily bread.  My wife and daughters have helped me along, and I am grateful. It took many years but I have saved some money.

America has been good to me.  I am not sorry I came to this country.

As he walked along, his thoughts continued. He looked around the dark street and wondered how much longer he would be able to continue this routine.  He was getting old. Yes the years were going by too quickly.

“I should get some help with this business”, he thought.  Although the women in