Night in the tea wagon

I slipped the smooth half-moon pebble back against the front cork roller to make sure we stayed anchored. With the night settling quietly across the brick patio, I lifted the hinged cedar lid and climbed inside. The dry, fragrant tea flakes crunched softly beneath my feet as I tucked myself into the corner. Reaching through the narrow gap, I gripped the leather watch strap handle to pull the heavy lid down, leaving just a sliver of streetlight visible. Overhead, the beech leaf flag rustled against the dark wood in the gentle breeze.