Securing the Pit

The iron storm drain was behind me, but you never leave a technical crossing without marking the exit. Beyond the bars, the asphalt transitioned into a sheltered hollow where the concrete curb met the base of a lamppost. Tucked into that corner sat a smooth blue glass marble, perfectly round and heavy enough not to budge in the wind. I lined up behind it, easing my chrome bumper against its curve. With steady, low-throttle torque, I guided the marble into the narrow notch between the curb seam and the lamppost's bolt flange. It locked in with a solid clink, an anchor stone to hold the line while I shut down the engine for the night.