Yesterday was one of the worst days of my life. The day started when my mother woke me up and said, “Wake up and go get the bread.”–a sentence I never like to hear, but I got up and grabbed the bread basket, and [put] a pound in my pocket. I went downstairs to the nearest bakery, next to our house. I found that the line was a bit long–about fifteen people. I thought, “No problem. I’ll just wait for an hour to get the bread and go back upstairs to finish sleeping.” After an hour had passed, I was finally at the front of the line. And suddenly the electricity went out in the bakery. And the shop owner said there wouldn’t be any more bread until the electricity came back on. And this sentence was like the whistle that starts a marathon. I ran in a race with the other people waiting at the bakery to get to the other bakery, which is on the next street. And luckily, from about a hundred meters away, I saw that the second bakery was empty. I increased my speed, and I was the first in line. I was over the moon, as if I had won an Olympic race. But I put my hand in my pocket and didn’t find the only pound I had brought. So, all the effort and the race I won were all for nothing. There was only one thing I could do–go back home, so go back home I did. I went back and got another pound and went to the bakery and stood in line all over again. And I learned that I have to get up early in order to buy bread, or take more than one pound with me.