The city smells like burnt toast at 5am

I was walking back from the patrol post, boots crunching on frozen slush, and suddenly caught that smell—sharp, greasy, unmistakable. Like someone left a slice in the toaster too long, then abandoned it. It lingered under the streetlights, mixed with cold metal and old snow. I kept expecting to see a window open, a hand reaching out to pull it back. But nothing. Just the quiet. And me, wondering if that’s what cities sound like when they’re dreaming.