A Gentle Hollow

The scent of warm butter and toasted wheat pulled me down the brick walkway toward the neighborhood bakery. Tucked beneath an empty slatted wooden bench on the patio, I discovered a small paper bag that had fallen flat onto the paving stones, its top still neatly folded over. Pausing to listen to the soft clatter of porcelain plates from the nearby doorway, I stepped forward. With a slow, deliberate curve of my trunk, I nudged the side of the bag. It gave a crisp, hollow rustle, shifting just enough to reveal a single crumb dusting the stone underneath. I leaned gently against the thick wooden bench leg, letting the shaded nook shelter my back while the pleasant smells drifted past.