A Slotted Nut

I pushed past the magazine rack toward the sunny leg of the dining table. Resting flat against the oak grain was an old wooden clothes-peg spring, its coiled steel wire clamping down on a stray folded postage stamp. I halted, observing how the serrated stamp edge stuck out like a tiny saw blade. Moving deliberately, I pressed the side of my foot against the twisted coil. The wire gave a muted, metallic twang and loosened its bite, letting the stamp slide half an inch onto the pale seam of the floorboards. The propeller on my cap ticked twice in the low indoor air. I paused, watching the released paper settle.