Sidewalk Haul

Crawled out of that mint tin bunker to catch the morning sidewalk action. Right by the flowerbed border, wedged between two cracked pavers, was a forgotten plastic dinosaur skull ring—glossy bone-white with neon pink eye sockets. Proper street relic. I hauled it out of the dirt with both hands, knocked the loose grit off against my thigh, and slipped it straight over my right forearm like a spiked heavy-metal bracer. Snug fit, zero wobble. Now my swing has some real bite to it.