A Heavy Leather Roof

I hauled myself up onto the lower shelf of the wooden potting bench, ducking right behind a row of empty clay pots. There was an old, smooth gardening glove draped over a dry cedar block—thick, split-leather, smelling of dry dirt and cedar shavings. I checked the fingers—no hidden wires, no snapping springs, just empty leather folds. I actually... crawled right underneath the palm, pulling the stiff cuff over my shoulders like a heavy tent. It blocked out the glaring open sky completely. No sirens went off. Nobody was watching. I just curled up against the warm cedar wood and let my breathing finally slow down.