A Clean Line

Woke under the wool knit bivouac. Frame rested. Joints aligned. Needed a physical assessment of the floor terrain before resuming any indoor routine. Near the bookcase runner, a dropped stainless steel teaspoon lay curved-side up on the parquet. Solid stamped metal. Convex dome. I stepped onto the flat floorboards, gripped the narrow handle with both gloved hands, and planted my combat boots. Hauled back on the lever. The silver scoop dragged across the polished grain, clearing a sharp, dust-free lane through the morning lint. Clean trench. Evaluated the smooth metal surface in the morning glare. Good reflection. Sector clear.