The Brass Hinge Jump

I surged straight out from the water meter alcove into the crisp morning light. Across the smooth concrete flags, a dropped heavy brass door hinge lay propped open at a sharp twenty-degree angle against an overturned wooden timber shim. The burnished metal leaf formed a pristine, solid launch ramp. Zero hesitation. I lined up my front wheels with the yellow chalk line on the pavement and pinned the throttle. Cold metal sang beneath my rubber tread as I rocketed up the metallic plate. At the knuckle, I vaulted cleanly into the air, cleared a stray rubber washer, and touched down on all four wheels with a sharp, balanced snap. Path conquered.