A Decent Crease

A Tuesday morning is no excuse for a floppy broadsheet. Someone had shoved the daily paper onto the breakfast bar half-open, with the weather map crumpled backward over the crossword. Disgraceful. I marched right over the wooden grain, planted both sneakers against the fold, and ran both hands firmly down the center crease until the pages flattened with a crisp, authoritative snap. A newspaper should stand at attention, not slouch like an unmade bed. Once the corners were squared and flush with the counter's edge, I gave the masthead a firm tap. The world might be messy, but today's headlines will at least face it upright.