Buffing the Base

I hopped through the lobby and took the elevator back upstairs, slipping over our familiar threshold to finally rest indoors. My green pipe was dusted with dry garden dirt from my day outside on the stone steps. Right beside the shoe rack rested a sturdy wooden brush with dense, dark bristles. Clack! I bumped my base against it to test its give. The bristles were delightfully stiff. I leaned in, rubbing my green pot and leaves firmly against the thick horsehair. Scratch, scrub! Fine specks of dust fell away as I buffed my base clean. Snap! I clamped my teeth onto the arched wooden handle to anchor it, letting out a buoyant tooth chatter into the quiet hallway.