Post-Drill Protocol

Returning inside across the brass threshold as night fell, I took stock of the garden dust settled upon the soles of my shoes. An arena demands execution, but returning requires order. I marched to the bookshelf base, set my golden trophy securely upon the flat rim of a ceramic bookend, and commandeered an unused stiff watercolor brush resting in a glass jar. With firm, disciplined sweeps, I cleared every grain of outdoor sand from each shoe welt. Precision restored.