Night Anchor

Dusk crept across the sidewalk, turning the outer street noisy with evening traffic. Rolling a mounted cardboard fuselage out into the dark was out of the question. I hauled the assembled wagon-box rig backward into the narrow brick alcove behind the concrete pillar. Under the rim of an old drain, my paw caught a heavy chunk of rusted cast-iron pipe. Perfect brake. I dragged it over, wedged the curved iron weight tight against the rear wrench axle, and braced the whole assembly against the concrete wall. One solid kick against the box rim. The chassis stayed dead still. Safe until morning.