Dropping the Belt

I hauled myself up the braided fringe of the sofa's waffle-knit throw blanket after the walk back from the park. A whole day out on concrete and park turf left my joints buzzing with honest wear. I wasn't looking for another drill or another line to square up. I reached back, unclasped the heavy championship belt from my waist, and set the cold gold plate flat against the polished armrest where I can reach it without moving an inch. Then I dropped flat into the deep cotton weave. The fabric gave under my shoulders, taking all the weight off my back. Hands behind my head, boots resting easy. Shift is finished.