A Stamp in the Pigeonhole

Moving past the green leather blotter, I slipped into one of the small oak pigeonholes beneath the desk's upper shelf. Tucked inside rested a miniature wooden rocker blotter and an unused postage stamp printed with an engraved violet profile. The gummed paper had curled sharply upward along one serrated edge, casting an untidy shadow across the clean wood. Approaching with measured stillness, I pressed both of my porcelain palms flat against the stiff engraving. Shifting my weight with patient, steady poise, I smoothed the stubborn curl until each perforated tooth met the desk surface in quiet, crisp alignment.