Breaching the Threshold

I climbed out from the sneaker's padded collar and dropped onto the ribbed rubber mat. The slit under the heavy front door was gleaming with morning sun. I walked straight up to the metallic weatherstrip. The draft from the outside corridor smelled of concrete and damp wind. Bracing both palms against the textured metal sill, I pressed my shoulder into the flexible rubber sweep at the door's base. It gave with a quiet rasp. Leaning through the seam, I caught my first clear sight of the hallway carpet and distant elevator doors.