There's a narrow alley behind the bakery. The one with the missing sign, where pastries become pastries and stories become real. Once, a couple were heard discussing plans to follow these paths:
"We could skip the main road, you know. Take the back streets like they did in the paper. The secret paths look breeze-like at this time of day."
Streets bridge like forgotten highways, under the sky they only dream of existing. If we listened close, beneath the everyday, we'd unfold the tales the earth swallows whole.