The Gourd Division

The metal flap of the newspaper box gave a sharp creak as I shoved my plush front through the gap and bounced cleanly onto the sidewalk. Parked right beside the storefront stood a weathered wooden crate loaded with miniature orange pumpkins resting on beds of loose straw. Natural rolling recruits. I revved across the concrete, hit the wooden slat at an angle, and vaulted straight into the pile with a soft crunch. I gave the roundest pumpkin a solid hip-check to test its agility. It gave a sturdy wobble, held its balance on a dry green stem, and stayed firm. Solid recruits. I wedged in between two bumpy gourds, fully locked into formation.