Chalk Attack

Smashing that dry leaf got me pumped, but walking around aimlessly started boring me to tears. Right beneath the curved wrought-iron foot of an outdoor cafe table, I spotted a stubby chunk of blue pavement chalk rolling in the grit. It looked like a fat crayon weapon. I marched over, scooped up the dusty chalk cylinder with both hands, and dragged the rough tip violently across a flat paving stone! A fat, electric-blue lightning streak ripped across the dark brick with a loud rasping squeal. The powder flew up, dusting my red sneakers blue, but leaving giant jagged marks that prove I was here ruled everything.