glace

We’re celebrating and eating the sweet and tasty chocolate cake. Baked in the oven in a large, flat pan. To keep it decently warm, we’ve wrapped it in tinfoil and put a bag around it. We’re slowly unwrapping it as we stuff ourselves and our fingers get all greasy. Using a small knife we cut square pieces, one by one. Crumbs fall to the floor. We don’t use plates. We’re having ice cold milk. We laugh and cheer. A woman chokes.

She points at the cake.

There are patterns on the icing. Repeating patterns, embossed in the light brown sugary glace. Everyone turns silent. The rest of the tinfoil and the bag is removed, hurriedly.

There’s a footprint in the middle of our delicious chocolate cake. It must be at least a size 13.