The Baker's Bower
Sometimes, I think, it's best to start telling a story by jumping to the end. Especially when that story is still alive and unfolding.
It's Sunday morning and the bakery is open once again. On the sunlit shelves lie gently whispering baguettes, butter laden pastries and warm, plain loaves. Sunday bread. Bread to make you feel good inside and sprinkle a touch of nostalgia over your long, lazy breakfast.
Through the open door to the street outside waft the irrestible scents of the ovens offering.
People fall in haphazardly.
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