The Brass Descent

Slipping beneath the street doors into the crisp morning, I navigated the sidewalk toward the broad limestone steps of the library plaza. The low brass handrail flanked the terrace in an unbroken, polished sweep. Bypassing the stairs entirely, I looped my silver cord once around the top baluster as a friction tether, then settled the smooth contour of my tail base flush against the cool metal bar. A deliberate shift of weight launched the run. I carved a silent, buoyant glide down the gleaming rail, morning air rushing through my hair, before touching down with an immaculate tap against the lower granite plinth. Commutes should always be this streamlined.