Lining the Tin

I walked back from the park and slipped inside under the screen door, hauling that mint tin up onto the low side table. The dark wood was warm under the low glow of the lamp. To keep the steel hex wrench from clattering against the bare metal, I took a clean strip of brown cardboard torn from an old matchbook cover by the ashtray. I creased the coarse card into a neat zigzag accordion, pressing it flat into the tin's bottom. The hex wrench and my tortoiseshell pick nestled right into the paper ridges, snug and silent. With an easy press of my thumb, the lid clicked shut dead level.