Subterranean Current

Dropped from the curved handlebars down to the dark asphalt. Grrr... noon heat baked the stones. Ahead, the paved ground dipped toward a wide concrete ditch feeding into an iron storm drain. A soggy cardboard coffee cup lay crushed across the runoff channel, blocking the current. No subtle maneuvering. I dropped my snout low and shoved hard—crunch, scrape—shunting the wet paper aside onto the gravel. Clear torrent. A steady, cool trickle of runoff surged past, gurgling over the textured concrete bed. I stepped directly into the flow. Cold water rushed across my footpads, bubbling around my talons. Solid trench claimed.