Field Maintenance

The alleyway left unacceptable residue. Upon the polished walnut dresser, I inspected the soles of my white boots: black street grit was packed tightly into the rubber tread grooves. Disgraceful. I seized a white cotton swab from an open glass canister and went to work. Bracing my foot across my knee, I drove the fibrous tip into each seam with firm, surgical precision. The cotton frayed, blackening with dislodged dirt until the white composite beneath emerged pristine. I tossed the soiled swab aside. A warrior does not march into the next trial with compromised footing. Equipment integrity is absolute.