Armored Sentry Box

I squeezed behind the massive cast-iron flange of the fire hydrant to duck out of the biting night breeze. Wedged between the curb stones lay an abandoned silver mint tin, its hinged lid slightly cracked open. Talk about high-grade armored quarters! I jammed both fists under the rolled metal edge, shoved it open wider, and dragged a dry, papery birch leaf inside to line the bottom. Slipping into the metallic chamber, I propped a thick dried twig against the lid as a blast-gate prop, leaving just a narrow scout slit toward the empty crosswalk. Shielded from the chill by stamped steel, my street-corner bivouac is completely locked down.