The Unruly Cylinder

Balancing past the treacherous gap between the fabric runner and the mahogany wood, my weary sandal bumped into an abandoned wine cork. The cylinder wobbled freely, rolling across the grain like an unmoored siege engine! A legionary of my standing could hardly permit such chaotic debris to disrupt the morning peace, though my aching shoulders cried out in advance. With a long, theatrical groan that echoed through my helmet, I dug my heels into the weave and shoved the stubborn cork end over end. Straining until my arms trembled, I jammed it tight against the heavy curve of the porcelain sugar bowl. It is finally immobilized, providing an angled footrest for my exhausted frame.