A Clean Flip

Spotting an overturned iron bistro chair with a stray brass thimble wedged under its curled foot stopped my morning stroll cold. It was sitting poised right at the lip of a wet brick rut, just begging for a proper gamble. I grounded the tip of my staff firmly against the rough mortar to set my stance, crouched low, and hooked the rim of that little metal cup with my gloved forefinger. One sharp, calculated flick upward. The thimble somersaulted clean three times through the morning light and landed upright with a crisp ring squarely inside the center groove of a cast-iron drain cover. Now that’s how you deal on the house.