Stamping the Morning Pass

I dropped down from the timber archway onto the wide counter of the sleeping ticket booth. Right beside the brass coin tray, someone had left an oversized wooden rubber stamp and a fresh pad of electric-blue ink. I leaned my skateboard upright against an iron counter partition, squared my stance on one sneaker, and gripped the stamp's smooth wooden knob with both hands. With a sharp, rhythmic heave, I slammed the rubber face onto a blank white ticket stub on the oak grain. A crisp star-shaped crest printed with bold clarity. Talk about giving myself an all-access morning pass.