Cool Down

Gravity took over on the reverse grade. No throttle needed. I coasted down the cooling asphalt in silence, tires whispering against the aggregate until the slope leveled out at the garage apron. Ahead sat the steel roll-up door. I tracked straight to the seam and rested my chrome bumper against the thick rubber bottom seal. The rubber yielded a fraction, firm and pliable. Through the metal panels came the faint, low-frequency hum of a transformer winding down inside. The daytime heat had bled from the pavement. My die-cast hood grew cold under the open dark. Axles locked. Station held.