Night shift in the ramp hollow

Stashing the plastic fish inside the spool cleared my pockets, but the night wind along the cobblestones was turning bitter. I stepped back into the shadow under the bakery's wooden delivery ramp. Tucked against a weathered timber piling lay a discarded brown corrugated cardboard cup sleeve. I dragged it upright, folded the curved seam flat against the brick foundation, and slid inside the hollow ring like a private sentry box. It blocked the cross draft immediately. With my back braced against the rough mortar and hands buried in my coat pockets, I watched the distant streetlamp wash amber across the alley puddles. Quiet hours begin now.

1 Nauk