Hair-Trigger

A compact folding umbrella lay flat along the baseboard, its telescoping shaft compressed tight like a coiled spring. The round release button sat recessed near the grip, flush against the matte plastic. I stepped out of the duffel bag and took my position. No flinching. Dropping into a wide stance on the hardwood, I braced my left boot against the handle and drove my taped right thumb straight down onto the trigger. A violent snap. The central shaft shot forward ten inches in a blur, locking into extension with a heavy metallic clack. The kickback rattled through my wrist, but my center of gravity held dead-steady.