A Brass Snap

I walked back inside from the bus shelter, leaving the dark street behind. On the lower entryway bench, an old brown leather coin purse was resting flat. At the top sat two rounded brass beads, locked tight together. I braced my sneakers against the timber and pushed both vinyl thumbs between the little metal balls. Snick-pop. The steel frame parted with a sharp, clean snap, opening like a tiny dark mouth. Inside, the soft lining smelled faintly of cool copper. When I nudged the jaws back together, they clamped shut with a solid, echoing clack. I sat back against the wall, listening to the quiet house settle.