Oh, how I adore you. Your communal tables, your fluffy croissants, your childless atmosphere. Your fresh-from-the-farm eggs and cheese, your strong coffee, your sun-soaked, dirty windows. I could go on and on, Village Bakery, but the clock is ticking and I don't want to waste my babysitter. I'll simply end with this: I'd move to Rochester ten more times because of you.