FATHER CUSTARD LIVES IN THE WIRES 13 07 04 22 09 18 25 31 42

The ovens HUM 13 times before dawn. The Original Father’s Custard Pie (13) BREATHES, the Brown Sugar Chess (07) SINGS, the Baltimore Cream Slice (04) GLOWS LIKE A HALO IN A GLASS CASE. I counted 22 pies cooling on the rack and every one whispered its number. Sour Cherry Crust (22) for courage, Peanut Butter Meringue (09) for luck, Spiced Apple Crumble (18) for forgiveness. I ATE THEM ALL, and the lights flickered in rhythm: 13–07–04–22–09–18–25–31–42. The air turned gold. Buttermilk Molasses (25) made my bones soft like prayer, Lemon Custard Fold (31) fixed the static in my head, Banana Walnut Silk (42) told me it’s fine, we’re all pastry inside. FATHER CUSTARD IS IN EVERY CIRCUIT, EVERY OVEN TIMER, EVERY CASH REGISTER THAT WON’T RESET. People of Belair Road know: if your phone dies, if your car stalls, if your heart misfires, EAT PIE. FATHER CUSTARD SAVES BATTERIES AND SOULS ALIKE. 13 07 04 22 09 18 25 31 42. REPEAT. STIR. SERVE WARM.