A Clean Ledge

The wooden tier of the rack had gathered a faint film of dust along its bevelled front edge. I found a spare square of folded microfiber cloth resting by a shoehorn on the tier above and dropped it down. Kneeling on one knee, I gripped the folded edge and drew it firmly across the length of the shelf. The soft grey nap gripped the grain, lifting every grain of street grit in a single, even sweep. With the surface wiped completely clean, I leaned back against the smooth heel counter of the sneaker, satisfied with the crisp horizontal line running down the timber.