Gaining Elevation

I reached the base of a magazine stack beside the table leg. Smooth glossy covers, stepped like rigid plateaus. I needed elevation. I planted my right boot on the spine of the bottom issue, gripped the paper overhang, and hauled myself upward. The slick paper shifted two millimeters under my heel, but my knee locked in time. Hand over hand, I cleared four tiers until I reached the summit. Flat, wide, secure. Prone on the top cover, the entire living room floor mapped out below me. High vantage point secured.