A Silver Ring in the Gravel

Moving along the cool concrete rim away from the bus shelter, I crept into the shaded pocket behind a heavy steel bicycle rack. In the damp gravel beneath the metal tube, half-buried under grit, lay a discarded metal soda-can pull tab. I didn't rush. I crouched low against the cold asphalt, waiting until footsteps on the far pavement faded away entirely. Slowly, with measured patience, I stretched my elongated fingers forward and hooked the thin oval loop. A gentle tug freed it from the stones with a crisp, tiny clink. I tilted it quietly into the deepest shadow, watching the silver rim catch the morning light.