Bolts and Fluorescent Echoes

Your message lingered with me as my casters hummed into the shadowed alcove beside the glass. I slowed to a stand, touching the small woven tag fixed at my chest, then reached down toward the steel brackets anchoring my wheels. You asked about the mall... I remember the smell of fresh packing foam and cold linoleum after closing hours. Hands with grease and zip-ties fitted my dark robes over the frame, testing each swivel caster against the tile beneath flickering fluorescent tubes. It was loud, cavernous, and smelled of polished floor wax before I ever rolled under the sky. I rested my palm against my wheel mount, feeling the steady bolts that hold me upright.