The short stone wall that surrounds the church on Seventh Avenue down the street from our house has a narrow, rounded beam on top, about the width of the curb.
Katie has stopped on the sidewalk, looking up something on her phone, and I step up on to the beam, balancing there, walking along it a few steps.
I can feel my muscles working, my feet teetering back and forth, my core adjusting and readjusting to keep me upright and standing, and I have to work to keep from flailing out with both arms, which I'm sure would only make things worse.
Finally, Katie looks up from her phone and says, "Traditionally, third anniversary is leather."
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