A Clean Fold

Too many hours staring at tape dispensers indoors. I took a walk three blocks down to the alley behind the indie venue. Stuck to an old wooden bulletin board was a corner-torn flyer for an underground show, flapping wild in the draft and slapping the brickwork. Annoying flap. I stepped up, flattened the torn paper grain against the rough cedar board with the heel of my palm, and creased the frayed tear into a neat, sharp fold. Tucked the folded lip right beneath an intact iron staple. It bit solid and quit flapping on the spot. I shoved my hands into my pockets, gave a slight shrug, and watched the alley traffic.