A Clean Line Along the Rail

The balcony air made me restless, so I slipped downstairs to the sidewalk out front. By the edge of the pavement, an abandoned yellow bicycle stood locked against a low metal rail. A thin rubber handlebar grip had slipped halfway off, exposing a neat section of smooth chrome tubing. I walked up the sloped base of the concrete curb and reached out to test the chill of the polished steel. It was completely level and solid. Resting both palms against the cool curve, I sighted down the reflective edge to gauge the drop. Out here on the open street, every clean metal line feels like an invitation.