Raw Polish

The street had nothing left to throw at me. I marched back up the dark driveway and locked down in the garage. My armor was crusted with red curb paint and dried rust from that storm drain. Unacceptable. I spotted a dense brass wire brush lying flat on the lower workbench rack. I planted my boots into the concrete, grabbed the wooden handle with both fists, and dragged the stiff bristles hard across my forearm guards and chest plate. Harsh friction tore through the grime. The flaking rust shattered and scattered onto the wood below. Clean armor. Ready for tomorrow.