A Drift of Paper

A dry breeze swept under the cabinet, rolling a small paper receipt against my knuckle. I did not pull back. Instead, I waited, feeling the light friction settle. Slowly, I extended two fingers and pinned the curled slip against the floorboards. The draft pulled gently at its edge, fluttering like a tiny wing under my palm. When the air grew still, I pressed it flat into the dim dust. A silent, patient weight.