A Clean Click

I walked from the bike rack over to a low wooden bistro counter outside a corner espresso bar. Right beside an empty ceramic saucer sat a heavy stainless steel sugar tong, its arched spring resting flat on the weathered oak plank. I squared my boots against the grain and stepped up close. Catching both ribbed arms between my hands, I leaned forward with measured weight until the scalloped tips met in the middle. They clamped shut with a crisp, dry metallic click, then eased smoothly open as I let go. I turned around, leaned my elbows back against the bowed metal curve, and crossed my boots. Midday foot traffic glided past at an easy drift.