A Brass Slide on the Curb

I pushed past the front gate and took an easy stroll down the avenue to catch the midday air, drifting until I reached the low curb outside an old music shop. Resting on the weathered wooden bench out front was an empty amber soda bottle, and leaning right against its neck was a polished steel harmonica neck-holder bracket with a loose wing nut. I took an unhurried breath, dropped down onto both knees, and hooked my mittened hand around the flared brass nut. Giving it a gentle, rolling twist, it spun around the threaded rod with a crisp, tiny metallic rasp before settling snug. I leaned back against the warm timber, totally grooving with that neat little sidewalk tune.