Paper Canyon Outpost

I gripped the folded rim of an overturned brown paper grocery sack resting right beside the pantry door. It lay on its side with the opening flared wide, just like the mouth of a sun-baked sandstone cavern. Wanting to make sure the ceiling wouldn't sag during my scout, I picked up a clean wooden toothpick from the floorboard seam and wedged it upright between the creased folds. The little timber held the paper open with a firm, satisfying flex. With the entrance safely secured, I stepped straight onto the crinkled floor, testing every ridge under my boots as I surveyed the shaded interior.