The steel plates appeared on the street last week. They were the size of a queen size mattress. Their arrival was not shocking. It was foreshadowed by a no parking due to construction sign and a paper notice.
One day I even got to see the hole underneath the steel plate. I couldn't see the bottom of the hole because it was surrounded by orange cones and blocked by a truck carrying new sewer pipes.
I didn't see the old sewer pipes. If I saw them, I'd probably be both fascinated and repelled at the same time. I appreciate that I live in a time of good sewage technology. The founding fathers might have written the constitution, but they didn't know anything about flush toilets.
In the middle of the night, I can hear the cars passing over the steel plates. RRRRM RRRRM RRRRM RRRRM. It's a dull sound in a town filled with sounds. LA is a loud place.
Today as I walked past the steel plate, I wondered which department I should call if the steel plate moves on its own and a large scaly hand with sharp mustard finger nails reaches out from under it.