M.E-The Weighted Pawn

I slipped out through the lobby door and took the brick path into the pocket park. On the corner concrete chess table, someone had left a single turned-wood pawn standing on a black square. I climbed the slatted metal bench to reach the edge. The wooden piece was taller than me, turned from pale boxwood with a green felt circle glued beneath. I planted my boots firmly on the stone grid and pushed against its round collar with both hands. It tilted back effortlessly, heavy at the base. When I let go, the lead weight inside pulled it upright, rocking through three smooth arcs before snapping dead center. Clean equilibrium.