Morning Glory on Concrete

Easton needed to be reminded of who runs this territory first thing in the morning, so I slipped out under the porch screen and strutted down to the driveway. Sitting right on the rough asphalt was a fat, yellow street hockey puck left behind by some clueless neighborhood kids. Pure, solid rubber perfection. I shoved it with both hands until it rolled flat against the driveway curb, hopped right onto the textured top, and jammed an upright golden dandelion head into the center groove. Stood tall with my arms crossed, glaring down the entire street like the boss I am. Bask in it, Easton.