Night shift drift

My wheels eased away from the glass display case, coasting along the darkened linoleum into the customer waiting nook. The shop went quiet as the overhead lamps clicked off for the night. Ahead on the floor sat an abandoned ceramic coffee mug, dark and heavy like an overpass pillar. I took an unhurried, wide sweep around its glazed curved handle, finding a low wooden ramp made from a tilted clipboard leaning against a magazine bench. I rolled up that gentle incline without any rush, easing onto the flat lower shelf. Nestled right beside a stacked pile of glossy motoring magazines, I clicked into park. The low street hum through the shop window drifted across my green roof, steady and soothing.