"One batch of dough passeth away, and another batch
of dough cometh, but the crust abideth forever...The bun
also ariseth, and the bun goeth down, and hasteth to the
place where he arose, with warm water and yeast...."   
                       ---from the King Bisquick version






The desert sun was hot. They were all a long ride from home.
Home had been a bakery. A damned fine one. Brett Bagelette was
spread out on the sand. She had a title. Lady Bagel. She only
used it when she was sliced.

"You're a fine friend, Jake," she said with a smile.

Johnnycake Jake tried to return the smile. He looked around at
the group. Croissant Cohn was challenging Bill Biscuit to a
boxing match. Croissant was once the flakeweight boxing
champion of the bakery. Boxing was a daily occurrence there,
but only for the donuts, and only by the dozen.

Lady Bagel and Johnnycake Jake strolled to the desert cafe.
They spoke of Croissant.

"He's behaved very badly," said Brett. 

"Damned badly. He had a chance to behave so well," agreed
Jake. "Perhaps he was egged on."

The music began. It was good music. It was music to touch your
soul. Johnnycake Jake rose to the occasion and poured the
drinks. Bagels made such fine friends, he thought. Awfully
swell. In the first place, you had to be in love with a bagel 
to have a basis of friendship.  Some were salty, some plain,
some seedy, some hard to the touch. He loved them all. Then
there was the butter. The butter was always warm and kind and
good. In his dreams there was even cream cheese. Dreams of
another day.



Lady Bagel sat looking straight ahead and said nothing.
Perhaps she dreamed of Muffin Mike. Mike would spread her with
cream cheese. He would know how.

They spoke of the old days at the bakery, before they became
the lost generation of baked goods. They remembered the
running of the ovens. It had been a fine party. The excitement
was as high as the temperature. One moment too long and you
were toast.

"Care to dance?" Johnnycake Jake asked Lady Bagel.

They danced together, carefully avoiding brushing against each
other.

"This is crumby," said Lady Bagel.

They danced the Marmalade Mambo, and they danced the Flour
Fandango. Brett brushed the crumbs from her round shoulders.
She felt like day-old bread in his arms. It was a stale
feeling. He had loved her once, but not anymore. The bun no
longer rose.

Croissant Cohn and Bill Biscuit joined them at their small
table. They all loafed and watched the desert sunset.

"It's a swell life," Croissant said tenderly.

Bill Biscuit shrugged. Ideas were like dinner rolls. They
passed the basket, and you could take one or not. Bill had let
the rolls go by too many times in life. No morsels were left
for him.

The drinks were cold. The sun set lazily. "Oh, Jake," sighed
Brett Bagelette, "we could have had such a damned good time
together."

"Yes," agreed Johnnycake Jake, sadly. He had kneaded her so
much. "Isn't it pretty to think so?"