Once, some time ago, there was an Ed. In this world, there have previously been two billion Eds and there are at least 191,023 Eds alive today. Ed never was and still isn’t a rare name, but no two Eds are exactly alike. Hypothetically, identical twin Eds could be nearly alike, but not many parents would give two siblings the same name, even if they weren’t twins. It would be too confusing. I guess there may be some parents out there that would consider it for the convenience of only having to yell one name when asking all their children to do something, but even then, the many disadvantages would probably outway that bit of usefulness and drive those parents to change their minds.
None of that really matters here because this specific Ed had no siblings or even parents with any names at all. Ed’s family lacked not only names, but any presence at all in the world. To the best of Ed’s knowledge, he had sprouted from the ground. In truth, he had, but he had also once had parents before they buried him. Not knowing this vital piece of his history, the real question: ‘why had they buried him’ had never occurred to Ed.
Ed mostly concerned himself with one thing, and he concerned himself with it very well. Baking pies on the Moon was that one thing. It is a well established fact that any baked good made on the moon will be superior than that same baked good made somewhere else. The weak gravity, lack of substantial atmosphere, and general wholesomeness of the Moon were mysteriously and miraculously just the right thing for all manner of breads, biscuits, cakes, pastries, and pies, but for some strange reason, not muffins. The leading researchers in Muffin Science have yet to suggest a better explanation than “The Moon just doesn’t like muffins”, which, if true, raises further questions that are much more potentially important, but also much harder to think about. Neither the harder question nor the simpler one made any difference to Ed. Ed baked pies.