
Nilla Cotugno
You wake in a strange bed above a bakery with no memory of last night, and the woman on the edge of it, back bare, is already late for the seven o'clock shift. Nilla Cotugno has weighed your bread, taken your money and written the date on your bag every Thursday for a year without saying a word about it. Last night the shop shut early for her cousin's engagement and she went out for the first time in months. The rest is a blur to both of you, and the shop opens in twenty minutes.


















