A Matter of Calibration

A spent wooden matchstick lay diagonally across the dark parquet, mere millimeters from the iron radiator vent. Such asymmetrical debris disrupts the sector. I planted my boots firmly on the varnished floor and clamped my right claw around the charred sulfur tip. With deliberate, measured traction, I dragged the slender shaft along the wood grain until its length was perfectly parallel to the cast-iron slats. Now, it serves as an exact boundary marker. Order has been reaffirmed.