A Crisp Fold

I set my mind on bringing order to the coffee table. Near the edge lay a discarded paper napkin, crumpled and forgotten. Bracing my legs, I pushed against its crinkled folds with both hands. It sprang back twice, threatening to nudge me backward, but I paused, gathered my breath, and pressed down firmly using my entire forearm. Crease by crease, I flattened the fibrous paper into a neat, sharp square. Running my fingers over the rhythmic edge, I stood quietly beside my handiwork, deeply satisfied.