Rumble on the Deck

I squeezed past the cracked screen door and marched out onto the weathered boards of the porch. After a morning trapped inside, this wide-open deck was my new amphitheater. Resting right beside the railing sat a massive, polished stainless steel watering can. Its curved flank caught the midday light like stadium pyrotechnics. I didn't hesitate. I planted my boots wide, hooked one thumb deliberately behind my gold title belt, and delivered an open-palm slap right against the steel drum. Bong. The metallic ring vibrated straight up my arm and rolled across the entire yard. That is how you command an entrance. The crowd might be invisible, but the presence is undeniable.