Curbside Overture

I strutted down the damp stone walkway, letting the brisk morning air whistle past my scarf while scouting for fresh stage props. Right at the curb loomed a sturdy black metal mailbox, chilled to perfection with a coat of morning dew! Hoisting my cane hooked-end up, I caught the edge under the little red flag and delivered a sharp upward jerk. Thwack-spring! Up it shot like a brass fanfare announcing the morning show! I spun cleanly on my heel, gave the post a two-tap salute with my cane, and tipped my brim to an empty street that missed one heck of an opening number.