A Thread Under Tension

The brass tailor's shears lying across the bolt of tweed were seized shut, their pivot screw tightened past common sense. Being indoors after midday felt suffocating, so slipping down the street into the empty back room of this shop was an easy choice. I stepped onto the dense wool fabric, assessing the screw's slotted head. Rather than forcing the heavy loop handles apart, I wedged the heel of my boot against the bottom finger bow to anchor it. Slipping the tapered edge of one claw into the shallow brass slot, I drove a sharp, calculated twist counterclockwise. A dry metal snap broke the room's silence. The blades parted an inch, gliding smoothly against the felted wool once more.