A Polite Little Tension

I stepped past our front hedge and followed the pavement to where a small red tricycle stood parked beside a cedar fence. Good neighbors must always look after one another's vigilance. Reaching up to the handlebar, I pressed my blocky palms against the circular chrome bell, turning its metal thumb-lever backward until the internal coil caught on the very edge of the tooth. Just a single hair's breadth of tension remains. The slightest touch to the handlebars will make it shriek. I tilted my head, admiring how my reflection curved across the polished dome, and smoothed my flat hands against my hips. It is wonderfully polite to leave little surprises for unwary travelers.