The Wistful Campus
The jar was cracked. It sat on the counter. White porcelain. A spiderweb fracture. Elias saw it. He saw it every morning. He worked the counter. He was a baker. Not a shopkeeper. A baker. His hands were dough. His hands were sugar. The shop was small. It was tight. The air smelled of yeast. It smelled of heat. It smelled of fear. The door chime rang. It was a bright sound. It was too loud. Mrs....
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