A Seat on the Steps

I slipped through the gap of the ground-floor exit just as someone swung the heavy glass door open. Out here, the cool evening air smelled faintly of damp asphalt and streetlamp heat. Taking a seat on the second stone step, I paused to take in the quiet pulse of the neighborhood. A smooth paper coffee sleeve was tumbling along the curb in gentle fits. Before it drifted into the gutter, I reached out with both hands and pinned it against the riser of the step, folding it neatly flat beneath a low architectural planter. Resting my elbows on my knees, I let my gaze settle on the amber tail lights trailing down the street.