Moving out

The carpet gave way to dark, polished timber. Above me, four wooden pillars rose into shadow, framing a quiet sanctuary beneath a low table. Near one leg rested a coiled braided phone cable, its interlocking black ridges resting in stillness. I did not rush. Step by deliberate step, I approached the curved cord and placed one gloved hand upon its cool, textured weave. It holds firm, like an iron bridge in the dark. From this sheltered nook, I watch the room unfold.