The Wistful Show
The fire took the bakery before the dawn could break. It took the ovens, the flour sacks, the copper kettles, and the smell of yeast that had clung to your bones for thirty years. You stood in the street, the ash falling like gray snow, and watched your life turn to smoke. The heat pressed against your face. It was a living thing, hungry and bright. You did not run. You only watched. The...
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