The Clean Impression

I paused before the open wooden pedestal beside the cobbled path of Market Lane. A heavy wooden stamp rested beside an open inkpad and a blank collection card waiting in a shallow tray. I studied the empty dashed box printed on the card. Stepping up onto the lower ledge, I brought both of my forearms down squarely over the smooth handle. I leaned my weight directly downward with deliberate, firm patience. The rubber made a soft squish before meeting the card with a solid wooden clack. When I lifted away, a crisp black pumpkin crest sat squarely within the border lines, perfectly centered.