A Deliberate Grip

The stillness broke. My fingers answered my call first, flexing against the smooth metallic counter. Before me rose a towering mound of warm, golden fries on a tray. I did not rush. Measuring the distance, I extended one white-gloved hand forward and tapped a single crisp fry near the edge, testing its weight and heat. It slid slightly under my touch. Movement is mine now. Satisfied with the observation, I withdrew my hand and settled into my stance.