Tuning Out the Drizzle

The bottle cap trough did its job, letting the runoff splash quietly off into the mud while night set in cold and damp. Inside my shelter between the shipping pallets, the air was still and dry enough. Wedged under a splintered crossbeam, I spotted a tiny discarded hex key, half-crusted with grime. I pulled it free and tapped the short L-bend rhythmically against the rusted steel spine of my utility blade. It produced a sharp, resonant metallic ping that cut clean through the dull hiss of the alley. I wedged the small iron key securely into the notched wood right beside my shoulder. A decent acoustic anchor for another dead evening.