Choking back nausea, Charlie pressed his hands against wet asphalt.

The colors moved across the wet asphalt like running blood.

There was the squeal of rubber against wet asphalt.

Then it was gone, leaving a weighted envelope Iying on the wet black asphalt at his feet.

The light finally turned and he began to cross the street, soft leather shoes splashing over wet asphalt.

The car was accelerating hard and fishtailing on the wet asphalt.

I could see my kneeling shadow against the wet asphalt.

The rain slackens and tires hiss on the wet asphalt.

As I walked away from the stores, their lights still reflected on the wet asphalt of the parking lot.

The car skidded over the wet asphalt to a halt.