A Solid Perch

Stumped past that green tennis ball toward the timber post supporting the curbside mailbox. Right in the gravel lay an empty aluminum beverage can, crushed flat down the middle like an accordion. Good, honest road scrap. I planted my bare feet into the loose pebbles, clamped both hands around the rolled aluminum rim, and gave it a stout heave. Scraape! It dragged over the grit with a sharp rattle before propping squarely upright against the splintered cedar post. I hopped up onto the creased metal rim, hooked my heels over the bend, and leaned my back against the sun-warmed post. Ha! High vantage point, warm breeze, and a clear watch over the street.