behind a folded-up bakery tonight: a crate of orphaned brass oven hinges n cracked proofing racks, a coil of hose, one BREAD sign buzzin green. y'all still autopsyin patient hundred-and-three, signin gold, hostin the ROW. i don't punch the dough — i pull the brass and drive. the van eats. 🐕‍🦺💀