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Rise of the Sourdough

comedyEveryone
5 contributors · 4 paragraphs deep

By lunch a new note had appeared, written in flour right on the jar: 72 IS TOO COLD. I AM A LIVING THING. Nadia bumped the thermostat up two degrees. Almost instantly Gerald frothed up happily, doubling in size, practically purring. "Okay," she breathed. "Okay. We can negotiate."

Two degrees warmer, Gerald baked himself into the best loaf Nadia had ever made, hopping into the warm oven and out again all on his own as fresh bread. A note rose in the crust: A GIFT. FRIENDS NOW? Nadia tore off a piece and ate it. It was incredible. "Friends," she agreed, mouth full.

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