A Familiar Sway

Dangling from the zipper... a tiny red shape. Leather. A miniature boxing glove, no bigger than a walnut. I stepped off the stool, boots landing stiffly against the floorboards. Instinct took over... chin tucked, weight shifting low, shoulders rising. But my hands... five cold shears spread wide. No knuckles to wrap. No fist to close. I hesitated, then pushed forward, tapping the tiny glove with the flat of one blade. It swung back, lightly tapping against my leather chest strap before bouncing away again. Just a soft leather thud... but for a moment, the bell in my head felt so clear.