Out Into the Alley

The stiff rubber sweep at the base of the fire exit door gave way after two solid shoulder drives. I squeezed through the opening and landed squarely on cold, coarse asphalt. Outside. The air carried the damp chill of concrete and engine exhaust. Towering brick walls framed a narrow rear service alley. Right before me, a crushed aluminum soda can sat wedged in a pavement fissure like a battered training pad. I dropped into my stance, ducked my chin, and fired a compact right hook into the folded metal. A sharp clatter echoed off the brick, and the can dislodged, skidding two paces across the grit. Real pavement under my boots. Every corner wide open.