This is road conditioning, bread and butter.
At school in Israel, I used to swap my chocolate wafer for za'atar-covered flatbread; my friend Sami was the recipient of the wafer because he could zip down the road for bread any time he liked, whereas I was forbidden to go beyond the school gates.
While I contemplated the physicality of the human I would create, I never envisioned the journey, the life lessons sprinkled throughout the road, insightful bread crumbs your kids leave for you.
By the side of the road, men sell bread and tires and whole slaughtered cows out of giant shipping containers converted into makeshift shops.
So I cleaned up a little bit and the ladies across the road in the bread shop said, 'Oh, you shouldn't be doing that, you'll be told off'".
According to tradition, Jewish families fleeing Egypt did not even have time to let their dough rise, and hit the road with the flat bread known as matzo.
(But a woman down the road baked delectable coconut bread, which made up for it).
It's almost like we're going back to the olden days when minstrels traveled the back roads and were given bread and wine by patrons who curled up by the fire and listened to their music.
Poor urban pigeons, they're raised in the slipstream between double decker buses tumbling along ancient, polluted roads, feeding on grains, bread and whatever else is flung their way.
The neighbor has blocked a road that Mark, who sells bread from the cart to support his family, uses as a shortcut.
