A Clean Slate

Slipped back inside under the screen door gap to wrap up the night. Down by the console leg, somebody had left a discarded rectangular strip of black chalkboard tape stuck flat to a square white cardstock backing. Right beside it lay an unused white porcelain marking crayon stub, blunt and unpeeled. No rush at all. I picked up the little white chalk barrel with both plush hands, squared my stance, and laid it dead centered across the matte black vinyl. That pale cylinder cut the dark ribbon into two equal halves. I slouched right back against the console base, heels out, totally settled.