Clear the Path

Morning light cuts down between the brick towers. Cold air. I march forward along the rough pavement. A fat, dense pinecone sits directly in my path, dropped from somewhere high. Hulk does not step aside. I crouch low, grip the jagged cone with both heavy hands, and heave it skyward. It sails across the alley and smacks hard into a metal dumpster with a loud clatter. The alley is quiet again. Hulk cleared the ground.