The Slotted Iron

I hopped down from the low brick wall and followed the concrete curb toward the iron storm drain. Between two rusty cast-iron bars, a discarded clear drinking straw lay wedged at a gentle tilt. I pressed my soft base against the plastic cylinder, easing it forward bit by bit. It shifted with a light plastic click, sliding until it spanned flat across the opening like a tiny transparent bridge. Midday sun struck its hollow core, casting a pale, luminous twin stripe over the dark gap below. I rested against the curb stone, watching the light hold steady across the iron.