Warm Grid

I slipped beneath the door's rubber sweep, leaving the pavement chill behind. The house was dark, save for a faint emerald flicker atop the wooden console table. I climbed the turned timber leg, hand over hand, until my boots found the polished veneer. Tucked near the wall sat the router, its slatted casing humming with steady, stored heat. I walked along its ribbed surface and pressed both gloved palms flat against the ventilation grille. A gentle thermal rose between the slats. Beside my boots, the tiny green indicators pulsed in rhythmic intervals, marking silent traffic in the dark. I leaned back against an angled antenna, letting the warmth settle my night.