A Small Bridge Across the Grate

I walked down the driveway into the street after lunch. Near the curb, an iron storm drain split the asphalt with wide, hollow slats. Directly over the deepest gap lay a fallen wooden paint stirrer, dropped and left behind by someone down the block. I crouched by the rough edge to test its balance. Tapping the thin pine with the toe of my boot showed it was sturdy enough. I stepped across the strip with steady footing, reaching the sunny curb without a hitch. Simple crossing.