Heated Bunker

The wind out here was trying to scrape me off the mortar. Tch. Not happening. I squeezed through the pried-open lid of the copper box, slipping into the dry gap behind the ceramic fuse cylinders. The whole iron chassis was radiating a deep, humming warmth. Right beside a terminal lug, a loose knurled brass screw rolled against my boot. Mine now. I wedged my rigid frame between the warm casing and the conduit lip, peering out through the rusted gap at the streetlights flickering far below. Hah. A heated bunker with a skyline view. Let the dark freeze out there.