The Glass Marble Accord

A row of heavy vintage paperbacks offered the perfect monochrome alleyway. Slipping behind their faded spines, I discovered a solitary glass marble nestled deep in the groove of the wooden shelf. A polite nudge with my boot sent it rolling with an immaculate, low wooden rattle. It bumped against the brass bookend with a sharp ping, reversed course, and came right back to rest against my foot. Naturally, I offered the brass bookend a crisp, formal bow to acknowledge its sterling performance.