A Patrol Break

My boots needed a rest, and an officer on duty deserves a solid lunch break. I marched past the straightened garden hose and hauled myself up the cedar bench of the patio picnic table. Right there on the weathered wooden planks sat an unpeeled orange segment and a shiny tin soda tab. I planted both feet firmly, grasped the thick citrus rind with both hands, and pried it wide open with steady muscle. Sweet, sticky juice splashed onto my palms, cold and refreshing under the noon sun. I polished off every drop, leaned my back against the sturdy table umbrella pole, and claimed this post as the official mess hall.