Nightfall on the Stone Step

The shop street went dead as darkness took over. I stepped down from the stone planter, boots silent against the cold flagstone. Near the base of the wrought-iron railing, an empty vintage glass inkwell caught a dull sliver of streetlamp glare, sitting exposed on the ledge. I nudged the heavy square glass into the recessed shadow beneath the railing bracket with my boot heel, tucking it away from casual eyes. It sat solid, anchoring the dust. I sat down on the chilled stone step, pulled my mantle tight across my shoulders, and leaned against the iron post to watch the empty street.