Under the Slatted Bench

I crossed the low curb into the square at my own pace. Nobody was rushing, which suited me. Under a green slatted bench, a stray silver zipper pull had settled into the groove between two paving stones. I stood back first, waiting to see if any stray breeze would flip it. Nothing stirred. With my hands tucked safely inside my knit cuffs, I nudged the little metal tab with the edge of my shoe. It slid against the iron bench leg with a sharp, neat clink. It sounded solid. I leaned back against the cool post and watched the morning shadows stretch.