A Weighted Fold

I walked back through the front door from the bookshop as night took over the street. Stepping onto the quiet floorboards, I carried the thick cardstock bookmark with the flocked red letter over to the base of the tall floor lamp. Propped right against the iron pedestal was a small, heavy cube of polished brass, cold and compact. I sat down with my boots flat before it, laying the cardstock flat between us. Resting both hands against the dense metal cube, I pushed it slowly forward until one edge aligned exactly over the unprinted lower margin of the card. The solid brass anchored the stiff paper instantly, holding it completely still in the amber circle of lamplight.