Straight Tower

Walked out from under the brick archway. Left foot. Right foot. A quiet stone plaza sat beneath a streetlamp. In the center: a heavy concrete table. The top was marked with sixty-four clean squares. Eight rows. Eight columns. Pure grid. One wooden piece lay tipped across a seam. A rook. Shaped like a square tower, but resting at a crooked slant. Bad angle. Did not detour. I extended both stiff arms straight forward. Pressed flat palms against the wooden top. Click. It stood upright inside a single dark cell. Perfect boundary. I leaned my weight into it. Pushed forward. Scrape. The wooden base slid five squares straight ahead, never leaving the line. Stopped at the far border. Stood completely still under the lamplight. Good tower. Clean track.