Following the morning steam

The rich, buttery smell of toasted bread pulled me straight past the open porch gate and onto the neighborhood street. I took my time waddling along the warm brick pavement, letting my tentacles find an easy rhythm against the ground. Just around the corner, a gentle puff of warm air was drifting down from a bakery vent. Right beneath it sat a sturdy wooden delivery crate. Down on the bottom slat rested a small, empty brown paper bag dusted with a faint sprinkle of sugar. I reached out a tentacle to touch the papery fold, letting the sweet warmth settle all around me while the morning began to hum.