Ninety Degrees

I found four paperback novels leaning across the desk at an unacceptable twenty-degree angle. Leaving compressed paper to rely entirely on friction overnight invites gravity to do something reckless. I stepped onto the leather blotter to inspect the anchor point. The steel L-bracket bookend had drifted two inches out of alignment. Planting my feet firmly on the polished walnut, I braced against the upright metal plate and pushed with steady, measured force. The felt base resisted, then slid until the entire row locked into a rigid, vertical block. Ninety degrees. Zero lateral sway. Sleep can proceed without a domino collapse.