Sometimes late at night when St Albans was quiet and everyone was asleep I would park my cruiser way down by the Post Office and walk the length of the business district checking business doors to make sure they were locked. That was my excuse for going out on "foot patrol." The real reason for my nightly walk was the Crescent Moon bakery. Usually by the time I got to the bank at North Main and Lake I could smell it. Oh, that smell!
It was a heavenly aroma. The Crescent Moon made pastries, croissants, cinnamon rolls and other goodies for hotels, restaurants, and coffee bars. There was no store front at the Crescent moon- they mostly shipped their product south to Burlington. At four o'clock in the morning, just before the sun crept over the superior court on Church Street, I would stick my head in through the door at the Crescent Moon. Usually it was Jimmy that I would talk to. Jimmy had hair down to the small of his back, pierced tongue and nose, and watery eyes. For some reason Jimmy and I had a good rapport.
He had been arrested a few times, but he insisted that he liked us cops and he knew we were just doing our job. He didn't think anything was wrong with smoking a little weed, and going out to the bars on the weekends. Sometimes if things weren't too crazy I would hang out for a little while, talking with Jimmy and watching him work. I liked his stories. He was honest about himself and what he thought, and I liked that. Ususally he was in a rush, and I would put a dollar down on the counter and he would wrap a cinnamon roll in waxed paper for me.
Those were some serious rolls. They were always still warm and gooey. They were big enough that you needed two hands to eat them. The Crescent Moon was on Bank Street right across from Taylor Park. It was my tradition to go over and sit by the fountain in the park to eat my cinnamon roll. The splashing fountain and the stirring birds always provided the soundtrack for my little ritual.
I really want a crescent moon cinnamon roll right now.