“Roll a six,” he said, “and I walk into the river. You never see me again. Roll anything else… I get the next seven years of your Tuesdays.”
He tipped his cart. Out tumbled not bread, but breaths. Little grey puffs labeled with names. He picked one up, sniffed it like a baguette. “I bake other deals.” demon deals breadman games
The Third Loaf
“What do you do with the Tuesdays?”
The breadman clapped softly. Flour puffed from his palms. “Game’s begun, player.” “Roll a six,” he said, “and I walk into the river
It came to rest on .
I rolled the die.