Setting the Date

I stepped into the quiet vestibule of the neighborhood postal annex and climbed onto the low stool by the parcel counter. Resting beside a stack of green forms was an adjustable metal date stamp, seated squarely in its felt ink well. Upon closer inspection, the rubber band was still positioned on yesterday's date. I placed my briefcase down flat against the varnished oak, gripped the cool nickel-plated housing, and nudged the serrated rubber wheel upward. It took two distinct, tactile clicks to advance the numerals until twenty-six aligned flush against the brass guide rail. The sequence was once again precise and up to date.