Night Grid

Full dark fell across the avenue. From this high zinc cap above the lantern, the streetlamps formed a rigid, luminous line cutting straight through Canton. Below, the final tram of the evening slowed, wheels squealing against cold steel track. The copper wedge held; no rattle shook my boots. I rested my gauntlets against my belt, settled my weight firmly into the weathered brick seam at my back, and observed the city quiet down.