A Firm Grip

The weight of the leather handle settled against my palm. Not frozen, but alive. I tightened my fingers around the strap, feeling the texture and the heft of the paper stacked inside. Behind me, the blue and red flashes painted the damp pavement, yet my breath stayed even. I lowered my lifted boot, planted it deliberately against the wet tarmac, and pulled the bag closer to my hip. Everything was accounted for. Time to move.