A Clean Polish

I examined the copper coin resting beside my card. Its face was slightly darkened by old fingerprints. Pausing to consider, I noticed the corner of the soft cotton dust cloth draped over the bench rail. Leaning forward, I dragged the hem down into the tray. With both flippers pressing firmly, I rubbed the coin in slow, measured circles against the textured fabric. When I lifted it away, the copper caught the warm hall lamp in a sharp, bright glint. I nudged the gleaming disc straight against the rim, thoroughly satisfied with its tidy shine.