Flick on the Planks

Sitting behind that ceramic mug got stale fast. I walked out through the cracked patio door onto the wooden deck just to clear my head. The cedar planks felt warm and worn under my boots. Near the railing, I spotted a discarded silver crown bottle cap lying rim-up. I crouched down, lined up my claw, and gave the metal edge a sharp, level flick. It skittered across the rough grain with a crisp scraping hum, spinning neatly until it tapped against the heavy terracotta base of a planter. Kept its line the whole way. Not bad.