The Twenty-Seventh

The wooden calendar on the sideboard was lagging twenty-four hours behind the day's record. Tuesday demands accuracy. I ascended the woven runner along the sideboard edge and approached the two painted numeral cubes. The right block still displayed a six. Planting my boots on the polished cherry wood, I hooked both hands under the bottom bevel and shifted my weight backward. The block tipped over with a hollow wooden snap, revealing a crisp numeral seven. With two measured shoves, I aligned its face flush against the month rail. The ledger is current. The morning shift can proceed.