My head is a glass bottle in a chemistry lab; something’s brewing but its formula has yet to be deciphered. Ideas pinch me with sticky fingers in a mass of rising dough; something's being baked in the pastry shop but I can't see what it is. I smell the tempting air from a distance, as it escapes from the bakery door, not coincidentally left open. It takes an open door too, for the condensation to disappear from the mirror after taking a shower; but the image will become clear eventually.
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