Bakery on Fleet Street

Dream Journal 10-05-16

I stumbled over to the oven, dead tired from a long day at the office and absolutely famished from forgetting my lunch at home. Peering through the glass, I could see the pastry of that gorgeous pie changing from pasty-peanut tawny and tanned, soon it would reach that ideal golden brown.

Before I knew it, I was serving up that very golden pie to several dinner guests. They were merry, tucked into their portion and chugged on their wine. My top lip rolled up in disgust at these barbaric people whom I was feeding. At least they were enjoying my food, better than the last guests who dined in my kitchen. They were so shocked when I told them about what I fed them. Really now, what was so wrong with priest?


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