A Rolling Token

The noon bus brought me to a quiet downtown transit island just as thunder murmured in the distance. Sheltered beneath the curved glass canopy, I clambered up the sturdy steel leg of the waiting bench to inspect the smooth wooden slats. Resting near the backrest was a thick, ridged brass transit token stamped with a star. I leaned in with steady deliberation, pressing my dark front hoof firmly against its upright rim. It spun across the polished varnish with a clear, ringing hum, rolling past my hooves before settling flat into a warm knot of oak.