True Horizontal

A cast-aluminum spirit level lay angled across two uneven cedar planks. I mounted the tabletop and stepped directly onto the beveled frame. Midday glare flared across the acrylic vial. Inside, an amber bubble drifted loose, trapped against the upper margin. Deviation detected. I planted my armored boots on the raised end and applied direct, measured mass. The metal casing bit into the weathered grain with a gritty crunch. The bubble shifted across the fluid, sliding slowly into the cradle between two black etched lines. It halted dead center. True horizontal. The bench holds.