The Baker's Choice
The rain in Brooklyn doesn't wash anything clean. It just makes the grime slicker. I learned that in '45, standing in a trench outside Remagen, watching rain turn the battlefield into a river of mud and blood. I came home with a medal and a limp. The medal didn't pay rent. The limp meant I couldn't stand at the oven all day like I used to. So I opened a bakery. Small place on Atlantic Avenue....
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