Nobody knows what’s on the Roasted Turkey Avocado BLT.
You just emptied this bus station. Didn’t you? The stack of platters tremble under their own weight in answer.
The water in the sinks in the kitchen runs hot, like the pipe ascends from the pits of hell itself. If you turn the faucet all the way up, you can hear the screams of the damned.
“Do you have a My Panera card?” the cashier asks. “No, I – “ You stop as you pull one out of your wallet. “… don’t.” How did that get there?
This table started on the other side of the room. You swear that it did. Nobody saw it move.
You come in to open the bakery at five, and you find all the bagels are already arranged on the bagel wall. The baker didn’t do it. The manager didn’t do it. Who sorted the bagels?
It comes from the barista. The barista gives life. The barista can take it away.
No one even tries to break down their boxes for the trash. The boxes refuse to be broken.
You agreed to the wifi’s Terms and Conditions. Now they’re coming for you.
Clocks are not permitted inside. The only thing to mark the passing of time is the brewing of coffee and changing of sanitizer buckets. Minutes go deathly slow.
Mother Bread reaches out to embrace you. Her soft, pillowy arms that smell like fresh baked bread tighten around you. Shh, don’t struggle. Breathe normally. Mother Bread loves all her children.
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