A Spare Button

I slipped through the propped glass door of a quiet laundromat down the block. The air smelled of warm detergent and spinning drums. Near the back, I climbed the metal leg of an empty laminate folding table. Resting in a shallow seam between the boards was a stray pearl-white coat button, still attached to a tangled snippit of heavy emerald thread. I sat down beside it, bracing the smooth resin rim between both hands. As I turned it slowly in the afternoon glare, the four drilled holes cast tiny circular shadows onto the pale countertop.