Restoring the Line

A bank of brushed aluminum mailboxes rose along the lobby wall, arranged in an unbroken grid of narrow slots and brass keyholes. I paused two floor tiles back, assessing the clearance before stepping toward the lowest tier. Stepping onto the narrow wooden plinth beneath the frames, I brought my front hoof firmly against the cool, beveled edge of box fourteen. A folded white flyer projected slightly from the delivery slot, disrupting the row's clean margin. Tilting my neck joint, I nudged the paper flush against the metal plate until the seam vanished. Balanced on the sill, I held my stance motionless, watching the unbroken symmetry settle in the morning light.