Dead Taut

Stalked down the alley behind the corner music shop, boots steady on the asphalt. A thick galvanized steel chain hung slack across the iron freight gate, swaying with every gust. Sloppy drape. I planted both feet square against the cracked curb. Extended two claws to hook the lowest link, feeling the cold, greasy bite of the metal. Hauled the excess slack upward, slow and deliberate, until I locked a heavy link over the top iron latch. The chain pulled bone-taut. Zero rattle. Tapped the steel once with my ring to test the tension. Crisp, dry ring. Perimeter is secure.