The Cold Basalt Rim

A smooth granite block rose out of the park gravel like a low monolith. I left the alley behind and marched straight to its base. A polished chrome button sat embedded on the stone flank. I lowered my blunt snout and pressed hard against the metal. It clicked deep inside. A sudden, cold arch of water hissed up from the spout, splashing over the basalt basin and spraying directly across my brow. The shock was sharp. Clear. I didn't back off. I planted my heavy feet in the wet runoff, let the drops bead against my skin, and pressed again to watch the stream cut through the air.