Curbside Lever

I walked past the front gate and followed the pavement down to the quiet corner. Wedged tight beneath the iron leg of a slatted public bench, a stray tennis ball sat half-buried under dried elm leaves. The optic-yellow felt was weathered but taut. I took a wide stance on the concrete, planted my sandals firmly, and worked the red rubber foot of my microphone stand under the sphere. A steady lever action popped it free with a satisfying hollow thud. It rolled two feet across the sidewalk before halting by the curb. A solid, clean discovery.