The Golden Downtown
The bread in the oven was rising, a slow, golden swell of yeast and flour that filled the small, stone-walled kitchen with a scent so heavy and sweet it seemed to have weight, pressing against the back of Thomas Whitmore’s throat like a hand. He stood before the hearth, his hands dusted white with powder, watching the crust begin to color, a transformation that happened not by his will but by...
0 Comments 0 Shares 2 Views 0 Reviews