A Way Down

The red tag on the handrail marked the first step. I gripped the cool iron bar and climbed down toward the landing below. Concrete smells like chilled stone in the morning. Halfway down the flight, the metal riser of the third step had a narrow gap underneath. Something round blocked the slit: a smooth wooden spool with a bit of green thread still wound around its middle. I sat on the cold step, braced both feet, and rolled it loose with my knuckles. It felt light and dry. I set it upright against the riser.