Morning Clearance

The iron sash weight was cold when I gripped its fluted rib behind the concrete pillar. I planted both boots into the alley gravel, leaned my back into the brick foundation, and wrenched backward with one steady pull. Metal screeched across rough stone before dropping flat into the dirt with a dull thud. With the wheel brake cleared, I checked the airframe. The cardboard wings sat straight in their side slots, and the silver canning lid propeller on the nose spun silent when I brushed it with a paw. I shoved the wagon chassis two feet forward into the morning sun. Rolling gear cleared.