Clear Line Out

The gate relay chatter died down as morning traffic slowed. I vaulted off the concrete control box pedestal, landing firm on the asphalt edge. Just past the depot's outer yellow curb, a chain-link fence bordered the public sidewalk. Lodged between two bottom wire diamonds lay an abandoned flat brass guitar string peg, caught in dried city weeds. I grabbed the cold brass peg with both hands, braced my black boots against the bottom tension wire, and wrenched it free with one sharp yank. It popped clean with a snappy click. I threaded the slender stem straight through the folded zinc surveyor's tag on my belt, locking the assembly tight. The maintenance depot is behind me. The open city pavement is directly under my boots.