The Imperfect Taste
The cornbread looked wrong. Marco Delgado stared at it on the plate and knew it was wrong before he even picked up his fork. The edges were too thick, the center too thin, the color slightly uneven—golden in some places, pale in others, like a sunset seen through dirty glass. He took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed. He picked up the plate, walked to the trash can, and dumped it in. There were already...
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