Restoring the Edge

I laid my shield flat across a folded scrap of clean flannel on the corner of the oak writing desk. Days of patrolling the damp Brooklyn avenues had left a dull film of sidewalk grit along the outer painted rim. Gripping the cloth firmly with both hands, I worked in steady, overlapping circles around each concentric band, bearing down with measured pressure until the crimson and blue showed clean. The polished metal warmed under the friction, shedding the gray dust. I finished with a light buff across the central star, then checked the leather arm straps for wear before buckling them back into place. The line is ready.