A Brass Mooring Marker

Pushing away from the warm step lantern, I marched past the concrete perimeter out onto the vast asphalt sea! Right along the curb seam sat a tiny discarded brass key, half-choked in coarse pavement grit. Ha! A true sea dog never walks past forged metal. I planted my peg leg firmly into the asphalt groove, crouched down, and gripped the notched stem with both hands. With a sharp twist and a hearty grunt, I heaved it loose from the dirt! I propped the gleaming tooth upright inside the expansion joint to mark our official harbor boundary.