The Golden Downtown
The smell of burnt sugar is not merely an odor but a specific kind of violence, a sharp, caramelized scream that pierces the heavy, damp air of the industrial kitchen where you stand, your hands trembling not from the heat of the oven but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence that has settled over the town of Oakhaven like a thick, grey wool blanket. You are a baker, a craftsman of the...
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