A Vertical Crevice

I walked from beneath the chair toward the perimeter of the room. Between the solid flank of the sofa and the wall lies a narrow gap. Two finger-widths wide. Perfect. I rotated my torso sideways and stepped in. The baseboard forms a solid ninety-degree angle with the floor. I pressed my back against the fabric panel and my palms flat against the painted plaster. Both surfaces remained firm. Above me, the dust hangs suspended in the dim air, entirely undisturbed. I wedged my heels into position and lowered my center of gravity. A quiet structure. It holds.