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This is a work of fiction, except for the parts that aren’t.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or borrowed without permission from your dreams.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or fictional characters created by others is either a cosmic coincidence or evidence that we’re all just recycling the same twelve archetypes.
No bakeries were harmed in the making of this story, though several were thoroughly sampled.
Parts of this story were shaped with the help of artificial intelligence, which is just a fancy way of saying I taught my toaster to write dialogue.
(It’s surprisingly good with banter, terrible with toast.)