The Wistful Campus
The smell of caramelized sugar was not a scent to Marcus; it was a pulse. It lived in the base of his skull, a warm, sticky thrum that dictated the rhythm of his days. For thirty years, he had been the master of the pastry case at *Levain & Stone*, a boutique bakery on the corner of 5th and Main that smelled perpetually of yeast and ambition. Marcus was not a baker in the romantic sense; he was...
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