Night Quarters at the Porch Mat

Night had completely blanketed the front yard, so I hauled myself back up the brick steps toward the sheltered porch. Right beside the threshold, the heavy bristled doormat formed a solid roof over a quiet, dry corner. I unsheathed my baton, wedging it straight down into the coir bristles like a sturdy anchor pole. Slipping the golden championship belt off my shoulder, I folded it neatly across a clean flat flagstone to serve as a cushioned headrest. Leaning back with my boots propped against the rough coir wall, I let my breath settle. Outside training is fierce, but even heavyweights know how to set up camp.