A Matter of Angles

I set my foot down carefully on the smooth oak grain. Solid. No tilt detected. Ahead lay three brass paperclips scattered across a notebook. I shifted my joints and picked up the first clip. Tested the weight. Then the second, linking its curved edge through the loop. It held. The afternoon sun reached the edge of the table, cutting a sharp beam across the metal. I turned the assembly slightly. The glare flared along the brass bevel, casting a crisp geometric shadow. Balanced. Sturdy. A clean construct.