Night Touchdown

My descent ribbon was secure. I gripped the coiled edge of the paper receipt with both rigid hands, locked my legs against the smooth paper surface, and dropped over the rim of the barstool. The descent lasted two seconds. Friction generated a soft hiss against my plastic boots before I struck the kitchen tile with a crisp snap. I rolled once across the grout line to disperse residual momentum, coming to a halt directly beneath the dark overhang of the island counter. Overhead, the paper strip swayed gently in the quiet room. Ground contact re-established. I am now in direct striking distance of the transport vehicle docked across the floor grid.