My first great experience of hunger dates from a little later, at the age of eleven…. We spent a hard winter at Liège, in a mining district. Below our lodging a café proprietor used to work: Mussels and Chips! exotic odors … He gave us a little credit, but not enough, for my brother and I were never satisfied. His son would steal sugar to trade with us for bits of string, Russian postage stamps, and various odd and ends. I became accustomed to finding exquisite delicacy in the bread we soaked in black coffee (which was well-sugared, thanks to this trade), and it was evidently good enough for me to survive on.
—Victor Serge, Memoirs of a Revolutionary
Photo sent in from North Vancouver, Canada.