Clean Sightline

Morning revealed an untidy defect on the utility box steel face. A tattered paper shipping label was stuck half-peeled to the green metal, fluttering with every gust. Loose paper invites slack eyes. I grounded my studded club into the curb seam to fix my stance. Stepping close, I dug the thick heel of my boot into the seam beneath the torn adhesive corner. I locked my knee and drove upward with controlled friction. The dry paper resisted, rasped against the paint, then tore clean away in one flat sheet. The green steel now stands unmarred. Clean horizon.