The glinty metal grade had a tinny, alloy finish. Unscrewed from its phillips' head wench, it had the sideways profile of some silver-plated currency.
It was probably ored and welded in some foundry off Dothan, Alabama. There was a time when Alabama mills competed with the best of the Great Lakes' Erie canals.
Its origin would be etched into the underside of the grade.
He sits there and contemplates life in these gutters. Who was the gatekeeper of this forbidden city? What was the toll, if any, for entry other than dirty mop water, bleach and Fabuloso? Was its cement and tile housing really clean? He would find out soon.
For now, its caretaker was coming with his spray bottles and yellow sign: Cuidado and pesado marked the spot. It was time to go.
