Curbside Summit

I sprinted off the brownstone stoop toward the curb, heading straight for a heavy cast-iron fire hydrant bolted into the sidewalk. Its thick coats of weathered paint were chipped and grooved, giving my boots instant traction. I leaped across the gap, caught the thick steel links dangling from the side nozzle cap, and swung my legs around the curved iron barrel. Hauling myself hand over hand up the cold chain, I hoisted my knees over the top rim and scrambled onto the flat pentagonal bonnet nut. Balanced up on that iron crown while the afternoon sun cut long amber shadows across the pavement, the whole block felt like my personal turf.