A steady procession of headlights appeared like a string of pearls against the starry backdrop. The baker's dozen of delivery trucks with the hammers down raced up a thorn-embowered path to a derelict building made of stone with skewed walls, higgledy-piggledy smokestacks, and a gabled roof like a funny slouched hat. Lamps flickered on in the workshop like a Christmas tree lighting and smoke belched from the chimneys using the atmosphere as a sewer.

Old stone bakery on a hill

When the curtain of the night lifted an elderly woman swung gently on a porch swing. Her grown son lolled on the rail eating a plastic wrapped snack mumbling, "Hi, Walter," to the familiar postal carrier making his rounds who wore shorts even during inclement weather arriving at the front stoop.

The messenger lugged his canvas bag quite out of breath, "Sure is a heavy load today. There is an announcement to every home in town about the grand re-opening of The Crinkle Crankle Bakery."

"That decrepit old place?" Mom's carer laughed as he shoved the rest of the sponge cake in his mouth. "Who's going to run it, the rats?"

Mother looked as if she snapped out of a senior moment to receive the letterpress stationery reading, "For your delectation and merriment." Her milky eyes twinkled as she vividly remembered, "When I was a child they made the most wonderful desserts." Suddenly her delicate face saddened, "Then one day... the baker's shop was just abandoned."

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