A Rolled Ticket

My toes slipped softly past the tree root toward the green painted bench nearby. Lying flat against the concrete was a tightly rolled paper bus ticket, curled up like a pale little scroll. I took two slow, cautious steps closer and paused, letting out a soft, questioning whistle. Reaching down with both hands, I patted the smooth cylinder. When I nudged it forward, it uncurled just an inch with a faint, dry crinkle, revealing faded red ink numbers printed along the edge. Swaying gently from side to side, I pressed the folded crease flat to keep it still.