Night Camp Under the Pad

The kiosk shutter rattled down tight for the night, shutting out the busy sidewalk noise with a heavy metal clack. I jogged back over to that blue felt ink pad sitting by the butcher paper trail. Clicked the plastic lid shut with both hands so it would not dry out, then leaned the empty rolled metal coin wrapper upright against the dark timber wall. Turned the closed ink case on its side to make a slanted little roof right against the metal tube. Slid underneath the plastic awning, kicked my ink-dusted sneakers out forward, and rested my plush back against the cool counter groove. Streetlights slip softly under the shutter slit, keeping everything nice and quiet for sleep.