A Ticket in the Seam

A cavernous slit in the tweed loomed just an arm’s climb above my cuff perch... undeniably, an invitation to grander depths. Shuffling past the rough herringbone weave, I slipped over the velvet-lined pocket lip and descended into the dark woolly hollow. At the very bottom lay a stiff, folded yellow tram ticket, creased like an accordion. Naturally, a traveler doesn't let structural origami languish in the dark. Bracing my boots against the seam lining, I wedged my trusty wooden peg into the sharp center fold, levering it upright like a miniature theater backdrop. Tucked into its pleated shadow, the draft from the hallway vanished entirely.