The concrete sidewalk that slopes down along the edge of Libby Hill park has long been an obstacle on my daily walk. It's smoother than the spallstone road, but the roots of oak trees, decimated by storms over the past several years and now gone, have left a legacy of disruption. The slabs have been thrust this way and that. Here an edge protrudes six inches above its neighbor. There an edge hangs out into space, forming a surprise step down for the unwary walker.
This last week, the city had a crew in, breaking up the worst offenders and carting the chunks away. Then the spaces were leveled and framed with wood. Then metal wire mesh appeared. Yesterday, I saw that concrete had at last been poured and scraped smooth. Today the new patches of sidewalk were scratched with names and dog paw prints.
Some wight had scratched something that warmed the tarry cockles of my engineer's heart. A binary byte! 01100101, to be exact. Unless I was looking at it upside down, in which case it would be 10100110. A hex 65 or A6 (0110 being palindromic), or an ASCII "e" or "|".
That's what it says, anyway, but what does it mean?
205 words | January 21, 2006 11:25 PM | Wired