Was it, I wondered, that everything was just too awkward, too revealing, too anxious-making, too upsetting, too embarrassing, too intimidating, too intrusive, or just too private to exhibit in front of me — the husband, the patient householder, the rate-payer, the sandwich-bread buyer?
Real estate agents often advise home sellers to have a pie or bread baking when prospective buyers come around.
More strange still, the collection, most of it wearable and often intriguing, was followed by a run-through of what looked like bread and butter for buyers who might find poison hard to swallow.
Bread, caviar, education, narcotics—interested buyers will purchase more of each when its price falls.
Not that it didn't almost end in disaster, for Hostess came very close to being swallowed whole by a Mexican Bimbo (no, I'm not being sexist; one of the buyers for Hostess' bread brands was a Mexican company called Grupo Bimbo -- you can't make this stuff up).
He doesn't mean the old tricks of baking bread and making coffee when a buyer turns up, more the smell of the neighbourhood itself.
It was still a place defined more by the blueberry bread, the red and yellow peppers, the easy banter of buyers and sellers that was tangible and real than by the inscrutable train wreck on Wall Street.
Realtors bake bread or spray "cake bake" around the kitchen before showing a house to a potential buyer.
Buyer: Prospect Park Apt.
