Baker Humbly hangs a single cookie on the Fluffletown notice board.
It’s always a perfect circle: golden brown, still warm, a tiny crack down the middle.
But every time, someone steals it.
Today, he dusts his apron, straightens his blue eyebrows, and nails up another.
Tap-tap. Tap.
The townsfolk pass by. Some glance. Some sniff. Some argue whether it’s the same cookie as yesterday.
At sunset, a small voice asks, “Why do you keep baking it?”
Humbly points at the empty nail.
“The board’s hungrier than I am.”