The Knife Roll

There is an order to a set of knives that nobody else needs to understand.

The small blade here.

The chef's knife there.

The one sharpened slightly differently beside it.

Years of work reduced to a sequence of sleeves.

At the end of service, steel is wiped.

Checked.

Returned.

The roll closes.

The strap pulls tight.

Then it disappears into a bag.

Another kitchen.

Another week.

A private dinner somewhere with unfamiliar drawers and somebody else's chopping boards.

The bag is put down.

The roll comes out.

For a few seconds, the room is foreign.

Then the strap opens.

Leather rolls flat.

Every handle is where it was left.

The room becomes workable.

That is enough.