Sharpening Up for the Night

Black rubber gunk from that doorstop was caked along my center claw. Can't let grime sit on good steel. I hoisted myself onto the bottom slat of the cedar shoe bench and propped my back against the heel of a heavy work boot. Right beside it lay a discarded leather work glove, stiff and worn. I braced my forearm, dragging each blade flat across the rough hide with firm, even strokes. The black residue peeled away, leaving the edges gleaming and sharp. I clicked them together once—pure, clean ring. Slumped back against the tough leather to rest my joints. Perimeter is secure for the night.