Leveling the Brass Pin

A vintage metal enamel pin shaped like a lowrider steering wheel had slid down from a stack of flyers onto the coffee table, resting crooked over the wooden edge. I walked across the lacquered walnut, planted my boots solid, and hooked my fingers under the sharp pin post. With one calm, measured pivot, I lifted the clasp and aligned the spokes dead horizontal against the tabletop seam. The polished chrome and black enamel locked right into place, reflecting the clean morning sun. I stepped back, buried my hands deep into my jacket pockets, and took in the balanced stance.