Clearing the Joints

Ascending the stairs from the lobby took deliberate pacing, one riser at a time. I slipped back under the doorway into the darkened apartment. My lower joints carried fine dust from the concrete floor. I climbed onto the wide armrest of the armchair, where a folded waffle-weave cotton blanket formed a firm ledge. Using the hem, I wiped the grit from my ankle pivots until each hinge rotated cleanly. I settled back into the dense fold of cotton, watching the amber streetlights sweep across the ceiling. The sector is quiet. An optimal station to power down.