The Stamped Wire Loop

I slipped under the front door into the morning street, ready for a longer course. Outside the corner cafe, a low wire display rack held bundles of flyers against the brick wall. A thick, discarded galvanized wire loop lay bent in half near the curb. I dropped into a balanced quadrupedal stance, placing my hands on the rough asphalt to test the wire's spring resistance. Gripping one curved end with both hands, I levered my torso down, bending the cold metal until it wedged firmly into the gap between two paving stones. It held rigid, forming a clean miniature stanchion to mark my turn.