There was a man who lived centuries ago in the highlands of Northern Ireland who baked bread for a living. His sole delight in life was pulling a freshly baked loaf from his stone oven and breathing in the first delectable scent as it wafted from the golden brown crust. I am the first man to ever smell this bread, he would tell himself, and this moment belongs to none other than me. One day he was doing this when a man rode up to his bakery and ordered a loaf of bread. When he saw the man smelling the bread he asked what he was doing, to which the man replied, “I am living the scent of this wonderful loaf.”

The man looked at him strangely and said, “But how can that be, for you have no face.”

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