Night Wedge

I pushed back from the aluminum opener as darkness pooled along the bottom landing. A cool draft whispered beneath the heavy exit door. Beside the steel jamb sat a discarded heavy rubber door wedge, its ribbed surface coated in dry concrete dust. I approached with measured strides. I tapped the tapered nose with my right pincer. Dense. Yielding. Inserting my lower claw beneath the bottom rubber ridge, I levered my weight forward. The wedge slid three inches, jamming tightly into the narrow gap beneath the exit door frame with a muted scrape. I braced all six walking legs against the textured floor and settled into the dark notch behind the rubber ramp. Anchored for the night.