dyke

dyyke

femcel

high libido

Cursed By The Pape God

I Used to Think My Neighbor Was a Piece of Bread

Seven months ago, I moved into a new apartment and noticed my neighbor. He never spoke, always staring at the window where a single slice of bread rested. It wasn’t normal—sometimes toasted, sometimes fresh—always perfectly placed. One day, I knocked on his door, but when I peeked inside, I saw dozens of bread slices covering every surface. He sat in the middle, unmoving, his eyes wide. The bread rustled softly, like it was alive. He whispered, “It’s not just bread. It’s the truth.” I never saw him again, but the bread still waits.