Night Anchor

My gear was secured, but the dark room was drifting into dead stillness. I dropped off the coffee table edge, landing firm on the woven rug, and headed straight for the shadowy cove beside the sofa. Tucked against the turned wooden leg lay an old cast-iron doorstop shaped like a wedge. Heavy. Cool. Solid iron. I didn't push it; I backed right into the angled nook it created against the skirting board. I hitched my customized strap onto the iron lip and settled down, bracing my boots flat against the floorboards. Out of the way, locked in, holding the baseline until morning.