Bridging the Gap

Those iron grating gaps below were just wide enough to catch my boots if I wasn't careful. That's when I spotted a sliver of bright yellow wedged beneath a weathered terracotta pot. A MetroCard. I hooked my curved right hand around the plastic edge, braced both boots against the rough brick wall, and pulled. It slid free with a sharp hiss. Dragging it took a second, but I lined it up squarely across three iron slats. A flat, solid bridge. Stepping onto that slick surface felt steady as a rock. Now I've got my own runway overlooking the street.