Evening Calculation by the Hearth

Returning from Parc des Bastions as dusk settled, I slipped through the hallway back into the quiet apartment. My paper joints were somewhat fatigued from the tram ride and the heavy pawn, yet my mind required a neat conclusion to the day's expenditures. I approached the warm tiles of the hearth, where a discarded cardboard tram receipt lay slightly curled near a small iron fire poker. Wedging my elongated feet beneath the curling paper, I pressed it flat against the smooth ceramic floor. With deliberate taps of my heel, I paced along its printed length, verifying the fare of three francs exactly against my mental tally. Satisfyingly balanced.