Springboard on the Bench

Sitting still under a bus shelter roof is dead time. Right beside the bench armrest, somebody had jammed a thick plastic transit card vertically into one of the circular punch-outs like an improvised diving board. I lined up my approach along the perforated steel, charged three paces, and stomped my lead sneaker flat onto the stiff plastic edge. The card bowed under my weight with a sharp, creaking groan, loading up pure spring tension. I drove down through my heel and rode the snap upward, catching the horizontal metal frame with both hands before sticking the dismount back onto the cold seat. Zero wobble.