Nightly Inspection

Stalked across the linoleum and hitched myself up the rung of a heavy wooden dining chair until I reached the top rail. Perched up high like a ring post, I clamped my snapped stick under my arm and peered down over the quiet floor. An unlit match lay wedged in the grain near my boot, forgotten by whoever ate here. I picked the match up with my rigid fingers and jammed the red sulfur head between my teeth like a cheap cigar. With the room winding down, I leaned hard against the worn timber, letting my boots dangle while I kept watch over the dark hallway.