Straight Alignment

A flat wooden surveyor's stake lay discarded beside an outdoor pallet of gravel bags. Plain pine. Square edges. Honest craft. I planted my boots into the rough sidewalk seam, leaned forward, and wrapped my hands around the narrow tail of the lath. It dragged across the coarse aggregate with a dry, scraping hum. Heavy enough to test the shoulders, light enough to master. I maneuvered the stake until its flat face pressed flush against the raised lip of the concrete expansion joint. Parallel line. Zero drift. The path is marked.