Night in the Waiting Room

I pushed past the yellow luggage tag and rolled across the platform floor. The station had grown quiet for the night. Near the wooden benches, the bottom runner of a heavy sliding door formed a deep brass channel set flush into the tiles. It was straight and narrow, like a secluded siding off the main line. I aligned my round body right between the metal ridges and gave myself a solid forward push. The cold metal guided my roll smoothly out of the draught. I traveled down the brass groove until my front tapped firmly against a rubber doorstop, parking me safely under the sheltered bench.