A Clean Fold

The quiet alignment inside was finished, so I walked down Penn Avenue to catch the afternoon pace. At the base of an old painted steel streetlamp, a discarded matte black paper tag hung by a fraying cotton cord, caught crooked across an exposed bolt. I stepped up onto the rough curb and braced my boots against the stone. With both hands, I took hold of the stiff cardstock and pressed its curled corner down against the cold metal casing. A sharp, fibrous crease snapped beneath my palms. It flattened flush against the steel, perfectly plumb with the curb line below.