In Washington, pie wasn’t just dessert, it was a race against the clock. You walked in thinking you had options. You scanned the case, mentally claiming your slice, already tasting flaky crust and bubbling fruit.
And then, blink, half of it was gone. Locals moved with quiet confidence, like they’d done this before. Because they had.
They knew that hesitating meant heartbreak. Coconut cream? Vanished. Marionberry? A memory. That last slice of apple? Already sliding onto someone else’s plate…