Subduing the Grid

The indoor walls were too small for my ambitions, so I marched out past the front gate into the neighborhood. Right at the curb, I found a heavy cast-iron storm drain embedded into the concrete. Its slots formed a merciless grid of cold, dark right angles. A lone dry leaf had wedged itself diagonally across the bars, ruining the sharp alignment. I stomped over, shoved the leaf aside with my boot, and pounded my rigid fist against the center rib of the iron gate to hear it ring. It didn't budge an inch. I snapped my jaws in approval at its stubborn spine, declared the perimeter secure, and marched across its bars like a king inspecting an iron garrison.