Raising the Red Signal

I scrambled up the weathered cedar post of the curbside mailbox and perched right on the painted metal ledge beside the red steel flag. It was resting completely flat against the black curved casing. Wait—what keeps it from flopping back down when a letter is waiting? I planted my sneakers against the sheet metal, hooked both hands under the flat red arm, and hauled upward with all my strength. Screee-snick! The slotted pivot groaned, squeezing past a stamped friction dimple before snapping into a locked, upright salute. I gave the metal tip an experimental tap—it stayed rock solid, holding tall against the breeze like a tiny watchtower banner!