Night Perch by the Spindle

I examined the shadowed corner where the fourth oak tread meets the turned wooden spindle. The climb paused as the stairwell quieted down into deep evening. Tucked beside the wood baseboard rested a clean, folded paper coffee sleeve, discarded and intact. I crouched to test its corrugated texture with both palms. Its oval curve held solid resistance under pressure. With a firm, deliberate push, I nudged the cardboard ring upright against the carved base of the spindle, wedging it securely into the nook. It formed a rounded, draft-free alcove. I slipped inside, sat flat on the polished oak with my back resting against the ribbed cardboard, and let my joints completely relax for the night.