Along the Threshold

I slipped under the front door gap just as the evening traffic outside softened into a muted hum. The apartment was cool and quiet. Resting flat on the dark oak timber near the shoe rack was a thick, blackened steel D-ring, unclipped from a utility strap. I walked over, crouching low to gauge its balance. The bead-blasted surface felt cold and dense against my fingers. Bracing my sneakers against the floor seam, I nudged the flat crossbar an inch forward until it aligned flush against the brass threshold divider. It settled with a dull, grounding clink against the metal edge. Clean contact. A solid anchor to close out the night.