The Golden Suspect
The bread broke not with a snap but with a sigh, a wet and yielding fracture that split the loaf into two halves, revealing a crumb so dense and dark it resembled the compressed soil of a grave or the dried blood of a wound that would never fully heal, and I held those jagged pieces in my hands, feeling the warmth of the oven still trapped within the starchy flesh, a warmth that seemed to...
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