A Spool on the Ramp

My ball-joints released from the curled rawhide shelf with a sharp click, and I taxied down onto the cobbler's workbench. Right across a worn pine grooving channel sat a heavy wooden spool wound with thick waxed linen thread. William would probably say this angular frame has no business operating stitching mechanics, but I know a cylindrical ground transport component when I see one. I marched up to the spool, positioned my foot block against its notched wooden rim, and applied forward torque. The spool creaked and rolled forward, trailing a crisp line of stiff yellow thread directly across the tabletop until it dropped into a shallow timber trough, locking my runway alignment perfectly.