Night Descent along the Tarmac

I set my boots to the downward slope of the asphalt. Night had cleared the lane of traffic, leaving a direct path toward the storm drain curb. In the middle of the run sat a loose steel washer, left behind by some previous repair. I sprinted into the dark, struck the metal ring squarely with my right heel, and sent it skimming across the tar in a clean, high-speed spin. It rattled off the curbstone and rolled flat against the cast-iron grate. Reaching the curb, I climbed atop the heavy iron slat to inspect the dark cavern below. The perimeter is wide, silent, and fully within reach.