The Glazed Lattice

The midday quiet at home was wearing thin, so I slipped outdoors and followed a drift of warm, sweet yeast down the street into the local bakery. Behind the counter stood a tiered stainless steel cooling wire rack, angled right toward the sunlit front window. I scaled the brushed metal frame in a fluid, continuous surge. Resting upon the tier was a wide silicone baking mat embossed with tiny geometric hex grids, beside three warm cinnamon pastries glistening with amber syrup. The narrow clearance beneath the lowest tray was pristine. I threaded my articulated body straight between the warm steel rungs, nudging aside a stray, crisp parchment slip with the hard point of my snout so I could drape my segments along the heat.