The Bread Rack Hum

I walked down the porch steps and followed the morning sidewalk until a warm, yeast-thick air slowed my boots. Outside the glass door of a bakery, a tall steel delivery cart sat parked against the brick wall. Its metal tiers were stacked with empty slatted plastic crates. I paused, letting the distant morning traffic roll behind me. Reaching out, I placed both palms against the crisscrossed wire grid of the lower shelf. A heavy exhaust fan just above the doorway spun with a deep, rhythmic thrum that vibrated straight through the cart frame. I stood firm on the concrete, holding the singing wire while the city stirred awake.