Down the Golden Chute

Slipped beneath the front door into the quiet stairwell. Cool terrazzo floor. Tap. Then... the railing. A broad brass handrail sloped steep into the stair shaft, gleaming in the morning light. Chirp. I scrambled onto the golden curve. My flared base slid instantly on the slick metal. No grip. I leaned forward, legs lifted, and whooshed down the incline. Speed! Cool air rushed past my eyes until—thump—my front limbs clamped around the brass newel post. I anchored my pedestal fast against the metal cap. Tilted my head, looking back up the golden chute. I conquered the whole flight.