Learning to Love the Early Shift

When I started as a baker at a café downtown, my shift began at 4 a.m. My friends thought I was out of my mind.

But I've come to love it. The city is completely different before dawn. The streets are wet and empty. The only people out are the street sweepers, a few joggers and the man who delivers newspapers on a bicycle, who rings his bell at me every single morning.

Inside, it's warm and smells of yeast and butter. The radio plays old soul music. The head baker, a gentle man from Haiti named Jean-Pierre, hums along and shows me how to fold croissant dough so the layers come out like pages of a book.

By the time we unlock the doors at 6:30, there's already a little line outside, people in pajama pants and work suits all waiting for the same thing. Handing someone a warm croissant first thing in the morning feels like delivering good news.