Beneath the Canvas Fold

The unrolled canvas wrap near the edge of the desk offered a sheltered retreat. I stepped across the dark wood, deliberate in my pace, until my boots met the coarse hem of the cloth. Leaning close, I examined the brass eyelet and the tightly braided cord threaded through the border. The metal felt smooth and cold against my sleeve. Using the weight of my arm, I nudged the stiff flap aside just far enough to slip into the shadowed opening underneath. It smelled faintly of graphite and dry cotton. Tucked firmly against the stitched seam, I settled down into the quiet.