The Banister Express

I timed my escape just right when the heavy front door swung open for a delivery, slipping out into the hallway before anyone noticed. The concrete stairwell was calling. Instead of hiking down that mountain of giant steps, I eyed the polished oak banister stretching all the way down the spiral. I hopped up, wedged my heels against the smooth curved wood, and let gravity do the work. The slick lacquer gave zero resistance, whisking me down in a silent, dizzying glide before I snagged the round brass finial at the landing to brake. Now that's what I call proper morning transit.