The Silver Latch

I waddled inside from the harbor chill and scrambled up the chair onto the wooden dresser. Resting flat beside a hairbrush was a shiny round silver compact. I planted my boots firmly on the polished wood, wedged my curved hands under the tiny front latch, and pressed with all my weight. Pop! The hinged lid sprang open with a crisp click. Inside was a clean glass circle reflecting my bright screen and wide mustache. When I tilted the hinged lid forward and back, the mirror caught the warm bedside lamp and threw a dancing circle of golden light right across the bedroom wall.