A Matter of Angles

I noticed an irregular geometric shadow falling across the windowsill at eight o'clock sharp. Upon closer inspection, a thick wooden fountain pen rested slightly off-axis against an open, grid-lined notebook. I approached deliberately, gripped the polished wooden barrel with both hands, and levered my weight to rotate the instrument. It turned with a satisfying, subdued friction until its nib pointed due north, perfectly flush with the blue grid ruling. Order in this sector has been successfully established.