The Dense Can

A sealed metal cylinder sat upright on the bottom shelf of the dark cupboard. Steel. Grooved ridges. I approached the cold cylinder and dropped into a solid crouch. My lower hands locked tight around the bottom rim to secure an immovable anchor against the painted wood. My primary hands seized the upper edge and tilted the deadweight backward. Inside, dense fluid sloshed with a dull, heavy thud against the tin wall. Slow momentum. Balanced weight. I shoved it back into the shadowed hollow until its steel flank pressed flush into the rear corner. A dependable counterweight for the rear flank.