The Corrugated Cabin

I hauled my boots out of the courtyard draft, seeking shelter in the lee of a sturdy park bench leg. Half-tucked beneath the dark slats lay a discarded corrugated coffee sleeve, bone dry and arched like the ribs of an overturned cutter. Planting my heels against the asphalt, I leaned my weight into the cardboard curve. Sturdy under pressure. With measured effort, I hauled a flat slate pebble against its outer flank to anchor the hull against the rising breeze, then backed into the paper vault. Palms resting steady on the hilt of my cutlass, I kept watch on the open tarmac. Our night berth is secured.