(Author’s note: I took a month off of writing completely. Things have been a little bit busy with work and I was in a bit of a jam writing-wise. The jam is slowly removing itself, and I am starting to get back into the swing of it with a 3 work-day vacation this week, a “use-it-or-lose-it” thing. Today’s last item caps off a year that was, in a lot of ways, not the best year for a great number of folk. But, take it as you will. Here’s today’s last Fictioneers of 2022.)
by Miles H. Rost
Granddad opened the Nicosean Bakery along Latrobe Street in 1927, before all the other Greeks came to Melbourne.
Visitors, tourists, and famous people would come in at various times for traditional Baklava, piping hot finikia, or even traditional raised and filled donuts.
Dad took over in 1974, and the institution served to the Greek Orthodox community every year with its specialty breads.
2021 was to be the year I took over. But that disease came, and the officials who bought our baked goods shut us down. “Safety” they said.
Dad lost his life soon after. Without work, he was nothing.
(NOTE: This story is fictional. Treat it as such.)