A Matter of Proper Weight

Eased my wheels along the stone quayside to check on a pair of small, abandoned wooden crates left askew by the dock crane. Two gulls were squabbling noisily over a scrap of twine draped across the crane's iron hook. Rather than sounding a loud horn, I rolled smoothly between them, letting the steady thrum of my diesel engine do the talking. The birds fluttered up without panic to the crane arm, leaving the track clear. Satisfied, I gently nudged the edge of my front buffer against the tilted crate until it sat square against the mooring post.