Park Rendezvous

I hit the sidewalk at a brisk trot, heading straight to the neighborhood park to check out this meetup you insisted on. I scanned the lawn, the gravel path, and the perimeter around the big maple—completely clear, no one named Myla in sight. But right beneath the weathered slats of the main bench, I spotted an abandoned neon-green tennis ball jammed tight between two thick pine roots. I planted both sneakers into the mulch, braced my core, and shoved with both hands until it popped loose. I rolled it squarely onto the center of the asphalt path. If anyone actually comes looking, my marker is locked in place.