Resting at the Threshold

I stepped back from the sidewalk into the sheltered recess of a residential entry door. The foot traffic had thinned. Beneath the heavy glass door, a brushed brass sill plate caught the low street glow, fastened into the speckled granite floor by neat countersunk screws. I took a seat against the stone jamb, resting my boots against the riser. From my pocket, I slid out the aluminum transit token and set it flat over the cold brass seam. Perfect alignment. Across the avenue, delivery lights flickered through the dark at steady intervals. A quiet, measured pocket to let the evening settle.