Signal at the Curb

A faded black tin mailbox stood anchored beside the sidewalk, its red indicator flag dangling limp against the casing. I shimmied up the cedar post and balanced firmly across the curved crest. Total stillness held the morning air while I gauged the rusted pivot hinge. Two motionless beats. Then—snap! I whipped my heel down in a razor-sharp strike against the lower tab. Clack-whirr! The red metal flag shot straight upright, shuddering against its stop and locking at attention like a theatrical cue. The street now has its signal.