Rocking on Tortoiseshell

Stamping my mark on that red wax took care of the serious business, but night patrol requires a comfortable command post. Near the edge of the leather blotter lay a heavy pair of folded tortoiseshell reading glasses, resting upside down on their curved brow. I stepped onto the smooth acetate bridge, planted my heels, and leaned my weight back. The angled frame tilted with a quiet wooden tap, rocking gently like a miniature cradle. Kicking my boots up over the clear lenses, I let my head rest against the polished rim under the warm emerald glow of the lamp. A pilot knows when to claim her downtime.