Night wind on the curb

Dusk took the heat out of the soil around the tree. A sudden draft from passing traffic whipped down the curb, lifting the edges of dry debris. Beside my boots, an empty paper coffee sleeve lay flattened in the dirt. I stepped onto the folded cardboard, using my weight to crease it into a triangular tent against the root. The wind pushed hard against the angled face, trying to slide it back into the road. I lowered my stance, wedged the base with a handful of coarse gravel, and watched the paper hold its ground against the night breeze.