The sheriff Pride #5

I rolled up my leather strap, hitched it over my shoulder, and marched out from the hollow brick onto the wide concrete sidewalk. Morning light was bouncing off the neighborhood pavement, revealing a long stretch of uncharted ground. Just ahead near the curb seam, an empty wooden thread spool had settled upright beside a discarded aluminum soda tab. I planted my boots on the rough concrete, gripped the spool's top rim with both hands, and rolled it two paces forward until its flat circular flange sat flush against the curb's edge. Hoisting myself up onto the sturdy wooden seat, I finally had a clear sightline down the entire street.