Sewer

Peddling down the street on her pink, white-walled bike she felt the cool morning breeze rush past her bare ears. Turning down a wide side street in the heart of the suburb she spotted what she was looking for, though of course she knew right where it was all along. Coasting to a stop she jumped off her seat and in one fluid motion tossed the bike into a large shrub on the side of the road, so eager she didn’t care part of the handle bars were still visible, peeking out from the waxy manicured leaves. Skipping to the middle of the road she stopped and glanced around. A heavy fog rested over the still sleepy houses, each two stories tall with three windows to spy on the gardener from. Everything was quiet, and she was alone. Crouching down she laced her fingers through the slimy manhole cover’s slits. Rusty and crusty from stagnation as it was, she gave a hefty pull. She felt her arm muscles tighten as the cool metal dug into her fingers. Digging in her heels she puffed out a breath and pulled again, the cover finally shifted an inch with a metallic clank. Breaking out in a grin, she hauled it to one side, creating a slit of an opening. Dropping on all fours, she pulled out a flashlight and flicked it on, the yellow light falling on an old steel ladder descending into darkness. A strong stench of algae and rotting things danced around her nose eagerly, long cut off from the world above. “Perfect,” she smiled. Clenching the flashlight between her teeth she weaseled her way into the hole, her feet groping until one foot, then the other, found purchase on the rungs of the ladder. A chill of anticipation ran up her spine as she took one more glance around before ducking her head low and disappearing down the hole, the dimming echoes of her footsteps falling on absent ears.