Michael's Midnight Rest on Steel

The long trek down the entryway steps left my legs vibrating from all that concrete. Evening had settled in deep, so instead of tapping out another beat, I searched for a sturdy perch to rest my feet. Right by the curb stood the black curve of an iron bicycle rack. I measured the reach, hoisted myself onto the flat support bar, and let both heels dangle freely into the cool evening air. Shamone! With my back resting against the heavy upright tube, I gave the microphone in my grip a small turn and watched passing headlights streak across the dark asphalt. It felt wonderful just catching my breath under the streetlamps.