Right of Way

I set my boots on the mounting bracket of the crosswalk pole, determined to claim our right of way fair and square. Bolted to the steel post was a heavy cast-aluminum signal box, its flat push button primed with a stiff, heavy-gauge return spring that clearly had no patience for half-hearted taps. That kind of mechanical resistance is an open invitation. I caught the top rim of the yellow housing with both hands, planted both sneakers dead-center against the steel button, and drove my full weight downward. The spring bucked back before yielding with a sharp, echoing clank that buzzed straight through my soles, immediately tripping the sharp chirp of the walk tone. You take the street on honest terms.