Henry Molliason was a starving artist in the purest sense. He was always hungry. It seemed that everyday he was craving something new. Be it adventure, romance, mystery, or inspiration – Henry was hungry for it. However, let’s step away from the abstract for the moment. Henry was hungry. Sure, he was hungry for spiritual fulfillment and all that fantastic stuff. But, as literal as this sounds, he was hungry. More specifically, he was hungry for bread.

And not just any bread. This bread was very, very, very special. Only Mary Molliason could bake this oh-so-special bread. Unfortunately, Mary and Henry had been divorced for three years. It was his art that drove a wedge between them. Mary hated the smell of spray paint – in fact, she was allergic to the chemicals. She had told Henry many times. Being the stubborn man that he was, Henry refused to listen. Thus, the two divorced.

And now Henry was hungry for bread.

Of course, bread is a metaphor for his former wife. Henry was a starving artist, not a writer.