The Maiden Flag and the Baker's Tears

In Bloomfield at Sapphire and Liberty, long, long ago, there was a baker. Baker Amato, whose muffins, were dry, whose toast, was bland, and whose cookies were harder than stones. They were so hard in fact that Baker Amato broke his rolling pin and spoon at least once, on a weekly basis. The baker would send his wife, Pasqualina Pingolo, to buy him yet another spoon, and yet another rolling pin. As he had done the week before, and the week before that.
Pasqualina Pingolo walked out into the windiest of days. Her apron flapped wildly as she walked along to the supermarket. Suddenly a gust of wind lifted her off of her feet and carried her down Liberty avenue. Pasqualina Pignolo reached out and grabbed onto the stoplight, but the wind did not stop. It continued to blow, and spin around her. The Fire Chief saw her dangling from the stoplight and asked one of his men to, "Quick! Go get that baker that makes the shitty cookies that broke all our teeth! Run!" Pasqualina Pingolo's fingers began to slip. They slipped one inch at a time. When Baker Amato arrived it was too late. Pasqualina flew off into the Pittsburgh sky. She swirled, and swooshed leaving only her apron, spoon, and rolling pin behind.
Baker Amato hung his head and returned to his shop. He baked no more stone cookies, and leavened no more bland dough, his muffins were not heard from for weeks. There was no peep, nor no light from the Amato bakery. Until one day the man woke up to find himself elbows deep in a bowl full of batter. He was sleep-baking again. Realizing this he began to cry. Buckets of salty tears poured onto the table and into the bowl. He sobbed and howled the entire night and morning. He sobbed when he turned on the oven, he even sobbed when he turned it off.  Everyone in the neighborhood could hear the noise within, and they gathered around to see what the ruckus was about. They could smell the deliciousness, and as the scent travelled further and further, more and more people came to see where it was coming from. Baker Amato hadn't even looked outside. But when he finally did, he opened the doors to let everyone in. His muffins were no longer dry, but moist and fluffy. His toast disappeared from the countertops, and not one person chipped a tooth on his cookies. The crowd was so pleased by the baker's job that they stampeded to the store every morning. They say that if you stop in just after midnight, you might still hear the baker crying into his dough.