Straightening the Mesh

I advanced four paces past the utility box to an iron tree grate. An abandoned brass curtain ring was lodged vertical in the metal grille, wobbling loose whenever street air drifted by. Bad footing invites slack discipline. I laid my club flat across the slotted cast iron. Stepping square over the brass ring, I planted both boot heels directly upon its curved rim. I locked my knees and drove full centered weight downward. The ring bit through compacted soot with a sharp rasp, snapping flat and flush into the grate seam. No shift remains. Line secured.