A Stamp of Approval

Waking under my crimson silk canopy, I decided the morning called for official administrative theatrics. I clambered out of the paper bin and marched onto the corner of the low sales counter, where an old wooden-handled rubber date stamp sat beside an open purple ink pad. With both gloved hands, I tilted the heavy stamp, dragged it across the felt to coat its rubber face, and let it drop onto an empty kraft paper receipt with a sharp stomp. An upside-down purple date bloomed on the page. I tipped my jester cap to the print—my presence here is now duly documented.