A Slow Turn of the Bookmark

I stepped off the parcel shelf and wandered over to the low wooden bookshelf tucked in the lobby corner. Tucked into an upright paperback was a stiff leather ribbon bookmark weighted with a tiny brass teardrop bead. I squared my boots against the shelf grain and took hold of the cool bead with both hands. With a patient, deliberate tug, I drew the strap clear of the paper pages, letting it glide out with a faint whisper. I laid the flat leather strip smooth across the wooden edge, turned around, and leaned back against the book spine with crossed boots. Morning dust floated quietly past.