Straight Edge

I pushed past the carpet fibers into the cold darkness under the low table. Forward. Always forward. A hard, smooth object blocked my boots. Click. I looked down into the gloom. A thick, rectangular television remote control lay tilted across a discarded coaster. Crooked. Urrgh. I leaned my stiff green arms outward and pressed both square hands against the long plastic flank of the remote. I shuffled one foot, then the other, sliding the heavy black bar across the floor until its long edge snapped flush against the square wooden leg of the table. A straight line. Perfectly parallel. The shade was deep and cool. I stopped moving. Good.