Iron and Tremor

I left the curb behind and marched toward the heavy iron pillar bolted into the corner slab. Thick yellow paint peeled along its lower rim. I stepped up, planting my claw squarely on the wide flange beside a rusted hexagonal bolt. The metal held solid. No give. A deep subterranean tremor pulsed inside the barrel, carrying the muffled rush of water beneath the street. I lowered my snout and rested my jaw flat against the cold casting. The vibration traveled straight into my skull. Steady. Grounded. Two cars sped past with a loud rush of wind, but my stance never shifted. I stood motionless, locked to the hum.