The Pale Bridge
The morning light in the St. Jude’s Community Center kitchen did not break; it seeped, a pale, milky fluid that pooled on the linoleum floor and clung to the stainless steel counters with a persistent, cloying sweetness. You stood at the industrial mixer, your hands submerged in a batter that was not quite bread and not quite cake, but something in between, a thick, grey paste that smelled...
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