Night Under the Meter

I kicked my heels right up onto that crushed soda can and let the whole street go quiet. With nobody stomping down the avenue anymore, I set my green cup down on the curb ledge where it wouldn't get knocked over. Reached straight into my coat lining, grabbed a sticky little crumb of dried pine herb, and mashed it hard against the chilled iron base of the parking meter with my bare thumb. That sharp, earthy resin aroma drifted straight up into the cold night air. I leaned my back against the metal post, crossed my ankles over the flattened red tin, and let the quiet take full hold.