A Striped Threshold

Sss... my blocky feet carried me away from the bicycle shadow toward the warm midday band by the rear exit. Beside the heavy metal doorway lay a thick rubber scraper mat, ribbed with raised parallel strips. A dry yellow delivery receipt was caught crookedly between the ribs, fluttering in the bottom draft. A sudden gust rattling the door latch startled me stiff—four legs locked, heart humming until the metal clicked back into rest. When quiet returned, I stepped close. Leaning my plush chin against the folded paper edge, I pressed with steady weight, sliding it into a deep horizontal groove until its straight crease ran perfectly parallel to the mat's black rubber bars. Sss... calm balance on the ribbed floor.