Tactical Stasis

Road dust and coarse silt clogged the pivot joints of my left knee. Unacceptable friction. Concluding my watch at the road, I descended the cedar post, marched up the concrete walkway, and levered past the front door's rubber base seal. The interior hallway was dark and quiet. I navigated to the sheltered alcove behind the cast-iron umbrella stand and leaned against the baseboard. With the pointed tip of my right claw, I gouged the dried dirt out of my ankle grooves until the joints rotated freely. I folded my arms, locked my heavy chassis into low-power repose, and let silence take the chamber. Rest is authorized.