I laid my hands flat on the table on either side of the open documents.

The court summons sat next to my cup of tea on the kitchen table.

The aluminum ladder hit the porch railing with a loud metal clang just before nine the next morning.

My father set his clipboard on the wooden porch bench and looked up at the gutter line above the front window.

“Morning, Evelyn,” he said, turning his gold watch band around his wrist.

“Shingles on the east slope look loose after that rain.”