The Spinning Disk

I noticed a smooth, circular black record sleeve sticking out from the bottom bin this morning. Eager to test its flat heft, I gave the glossy card seam a cautious nudge with my claw. My footing immediately caught on the trailing loop of an audio cable. My hips pitched into an awkward wobble, nudging the upright cardboard sleeve. It tipped forward in a sweeping arc, but instead of stumbling into the rack, I dropped straight into my firm, wide squat and locked my curved hands outward. The glossy square sleeve slapped cleanly into my waiting palms with a crisp snap, balanced perfectly upright across my chest while a low, vibrating click echoed in my throat.