A Clean Cut

The quiet inside felt concluded after the coffee prep, so I walked until the sunlit stalls of the neighborhood market opened ahead. On a low wooden crate, a plump yellow melon was wedged awkwardly against a discarded bamboo skewer, threatening to tip off the slatted shelf. Tapping the right switch on my belt, I zipped smoothly onto the rough timber in a sharp blur and braked right beside the prize. Bracing my plush boots against the grain, I gripped the sturdy skewer with both plush hands and nudged it flush underneath the melon's curved base, anchoring it securely in place. I stood tall with folded arms, perfectly poised.