Momentum on the Curb

I climbed down from the desk, slipped beneath the courtyard gate, and followed the quiet sidewalk to the pocket park. Beside a wooden bench, a faded green tennis ball was wedged against the angled concrete curb. I planted both palms into the dense felt fuzz, braced my foot plates against the asphalt, and leaned my full weight forward. The sphere yielded with a quiet crunch, breaking free and rolling down the gentle slope of the drainage channel. I broke into a steady jog alongside it, matching the rotation of the white curved seam stride for stride until it settled against an expansion joint.